


Daisy Chain

by MundaneChampagne



Series: Love, and Love Alone [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Betrayal, M/M, Not As Dark As The Tags Make It Sound, Pairings that make sense in my head, Revenge, Romance, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Tragedy, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 60,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/pseuds/MundaneChampagne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staring through the scope, the memories come rushing back. Should he take the shot? Can he?</p><p>What if Garrus had been betrayed by a lover, and not just a subordinate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Daisy Chain_ (Electrical engineering): A wiring scheme in which multiple devices are wired together in a sequence or a ring.
> 
> I want to give a mad shoutout to [baus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/baus/pseuds/baus) for looking over my drafts and being willing to brush up on a new fandom for me. This has not been beta read by someone familiar with Mass Effect! If you are interested, please give me a shout, I would love to have you and your thoughts.

Garrus was in a trance. Clip after clip, he took shot after shot, killed merc after merc.

He was going to die. He'd made his peace with that. All he wanted to do was die doing what he did best.

And to not think about what had led him here.

The flash of armor down on the bridge distracted him. As a sniper, he knew how to pick out targets. He'd learned how to notice and hone in on the things that did not belong.

He took the sight as confirmation that he was dying. There was no way that she was really there. It must be a hallucination in death.

Because the woman in that armor had been dead for two years.  


* * *

  
It began as an accident.

After the funeral, he resigned from C-Sec, squashing the temptation to throw a "fuck you" in with his letter of notice. He took the first shuttle off the Citadel, not caring where it went, and kept taking shuttles for the next few weeks. Erasing traces of his identity as he went, and recognizing the irony when he ended up on Omega.

Those long weeks were spent in a haze of grief and liquor.

He wore his armor and carried his rifle at all times. On Omega, no one batted an eye. You were more likely to be taken notice of if you _didn't_ carry weapons, and this attention was not a good kind of attention.

Garrus discovered this when he ran across a human couple being mugged. The vorcha doing the mugging went down with a single headshot, and even though the humans were startled, they thanked him profusely. His translator glitched on one of their words, and the softness of that word stuck in his head. He later looked it up.

 _Angel_ (Human mythology): A heavenly guardian and divine messenger.

He was far from the sort. Garrus knew this, but he couldn't resist quipping at the vorcha he had in a headlock, "Omega has a guardian angel now", and then he let the wounded vorcha go, intending that the gangs would be warned.

And the next time he haunted the bar at Afterlife, downing shot after tasteless shot, he heard a whisper of "Archangel".

Like everything in his life lately, it was a cruel irony.

 

He quickly fell into a routine. Clean the guns and armor, go out for a few hours and disrupt the street brutality that was commonplace on Omega, then go back to the shitty apartment and drink himself into a stupor. Wake up, wait out the hangover, and repeat. It wasn't any kind of life. Garrus knew this. But there was a small satisfaction in taking out some mercs looking for trouble, and saving the person on the receiving end of that trouble.

He could do a little bit of good on this shithole of a station. And it felt good. It kept him going. It meant he didn't have to think about Shepard, or how frustrated he'd been with C-Sec. It meant that his head could stop spinning for a few hours, and that the ache in his spirit would ease, and that he could think clearly.

But he couldn't do it all the time, and it was always after that he needed a fucking drink to silence the voices in his head, and the memory of a face, and the thought of that face gasping for air—

The liquor bottles piled up in the apartment. Garrus didn't feel like taking the effort to get rid of them. More would just pile up in their stead.

He knew that the gangs of Omega didn't take him seriously. He was no kind of threat to them. They'd seen vigilantes before, and while Archangel had better aim than most, he was still one person.

But the people. People lived on Omega for some reason, eking out livings. In a way, Omega was a sanctuary for those who didn't fit in anywhere else. A dam in the river that the debris piled up behind. And the people of Omega passed around the word, that maybe the streets were a little safer, that petty criminals were less likely to show their faces. That they had an angel, and they acknowledged it quietly, in private places, in whispers.

And a glass or two was raised, while Garrus raised the whole bottle in his shitty apartment and found the nothing that he was looking for in its depths.

 

Lantar Sidonis was not paying attention on his way home.

This error could be fatal on Omega. It was a risk he took. Anyone would know just by looking at him that he had nothing to give. His clothing was burned. He walked with a small limp, his head cast down.

The warehouse had been bombed earlier that day. He was out of a job for the foreseeable future. He had barely enough credits to last him a week, if he found the cheapest food he could. After that—well, he didn't know. Lantar survived day to day, caring only enough to keep living.

His desperate state was ignored by a human who was in the mood for violence. The human cornered him in an alley and pulled a long and rusty knife. Lantar was taken by surprise, and didn't even have time to get in a punch before the knife glanced off his chest plates. He winced at the scratch, and pulled back a fist to deal the human a new one—

There was a pop, and the human no longer had a head. The body stood for a half second more, then tipped over with more grace than it had when it was alive. Lantar stared down at the corpse in surprise, and then looked up, trying to spot the point of origin.

His eyes found another turian crouched up on a ledge. Their eyes must have met, because the helmeted head gave Lantar a nod. Then the man turned around and vanished into the shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

"Archangel?"

The voice came from behind, commanding in its tone. Garrus was suddenly rooted to the spot, unable to turn around. He held up a shaky hand. _One moment._ One more merc.

He must be dead. There was no way—

She stood in front of him, too thin, her face drawn, ugly glowing scars crossing her cheeks and jaw. The armor looked new, as well as the gun. Flanking her were two human soldiers, their uniforms emblazoned with a hated symbol he knew all too well. _Cerberus._

He slowly turned around, his brain registering every sensation, every breath inside his helmet, every footfall on the floor. Shepard's eyes narrowed, and she tapped her foot.

He sat, a wave of dizziness engulfing him, and pulled off his helmet. "Shepard. I thought you were dead."

Her face widened in shock, then softened. A smile tugged at her mouth. "Garrus. What are you doing here?"  


* * *

  
The pounding of the music filled Garrus's head, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. Just the thing he needed.

He hadn't slept last night. The liquor hadn't helped. Too much tossing and turning, the hard mattress pressing into his body and making his back hurt. His hands had been shaking too badly to properly clean his gun. Take the day off, he figured. Garrus never wanted to see the day when he couldn't aim properly, and he was beginning to fear that he'd reached it.

So instead of going out on the hunt, he'd holed up on the lower floor of Afterlife, losing himself in the music and the commotion. Time blurred before him, or maybe it was his eyesight. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, and caught a motion out of the corner of his eye.

Was that the turian he'd saved last night?

The man was being pressed out the back door by a pair of vorcha wearing Blood Pack crests. Garrus narrowed his eyes, and stood. He reached down to his hip, checking to make sure that his pistol was there. He hadn't brought his rifle, nor was he wearing the heavy blue armor—just a light black suit, suited more for daily use than combat. He just hoped it would be enough.

The door slammed. Garrus counted to five, then moved out.

 

"Shoulda known better than to mess with Blood Pack."

Lantar was slammed into a wall. "What do you want with me?" he asked, wincing. "I just worked there. I had nothing to do with it!"

The bigger vorcha grinned. Well—grinned _more_. Vorchas always grinned. "We're gonna send your boss a message," the vorcha said. "How about we carve it into that bare face of yours?"

Lantar regained his balance and stared the vorcha in the eye. Then he cracked his bare face against the vorcha's grin. The vorcha stumbled back, which gave Lantar a chance to lash out at the other one, talons bared.

It wasn't an organized fight. Lantar flailed, trying to score a hit wherever he could, while the vorcha regrouped and tried to tackle and pin him. His hands were caught, but he was able to get in a couple kicks. It was hopeless—the fight was over before it started. Lantar knew that. He knew that his body would be delivered to his boss in the morning, a warning painted on it in blue blood.

He didn't want to die.

Two shots rang out, and one of the vorcha slumped over. Lantar's eyes widened, and he quickly took advantage of the other's dismay to bring his knee up into the vorcha's face. There was a crack, and the vorcha howled, blood pouring down his face. Another shot took the bleeding vorcha down.

Lantar leaned back against the wall, his heart racing. After a moment to catch his breath, he looked up.

A turian in black armor was standing in the alleyway. He was helmeted. The armor and the gun was different, but Lantar recognized him immediately.

"Look," he said. "I know who you are. You don't have to keep saving me. I'm not worth anything."

The other man tilted his head. "You fight pretty hard for someone who doesn't seem to care if they die."

Lantar rubbed a hand over his face. "It's not that I want to die—I just—" He groaned, the adrenaline of the fight draining away.

Archangel nodded. "What'd you do to these guys? They seemed to have it out for you."

"Not me. My boss. Refused to release an illegal shipment to them. We're all out of a job now, but Blood Pack just won't let up."

Archangel nodded.

"I'll be ok," Lantar said. "Just got to wait it out." He shuffled his feet. "Not that I don't mind the rescue, but I've really got nothing to look forward to." He held up a hand when Archangel started to speak. "It's ok. Thank you. I'd rather be out of here before someone comes looking for these guys."

Archangel started, and turned to check the alleyway. It was deserted. "Can you get back home all right?"

"Yeah. Probably."

"At least let me walk you there. I'd rather not have to rescue you a third time."

Lantar twitched his mandibles. "I'm not that helpless."

They set off, Archangel constantly surveying the space around them. They walked in silence for a while. And then—

"Shit."

Archangel grabbed his arm and pulled him into the shadows. A group of Blood Pack were out on patrol, in forces much larger than the one that had ambushed him in Afterlife.

Luckily, they hadn't been spotted.

An alarm wailed, and Lantar jumped. Archangel looked up, then quickly opened his omnitool. He scanned the readings that came up. "Fire. Two blocks ahead."

Lantar groaned. "That would be the warehouse. Boss really took on more than he could handle." The alarm was boring into his skull.

"Where's your place?"

"Same block." Lantar shook his head. "Fuck. I'm not going home tonight."

Archangel gave him a look. Lantar couldn't tell because of the helmet, but it was probably pitying. "I'm not going to leave you out on the streets."

"Really, I'm—"

"Can I trust you?"

The question startled him. No one ever asked for Lantar's trust. He wasn't sure he had any to give. But Archangel…Lantar knew that he probably had several pissed off criminals gunning for him. "I won't stab you in the back, if that's what you mean," he said.

Archangel nodded. "You can hunker down at my place for the night. Wait for this to die down." He glanced out at the mercs, then down the alley they'd ducked into. "Don't want to alert them. This way."

The route they took was convoluted. Archangel took detours, doubled back, and slipped through private streets, constantly checking everywhere around him. The noise of the alarm slowly faded into the distance. Lantar, who knew Omega like the back of his hand, was dizzy by the time they arrived at a shabby apartment complex. Thirteen flights of stairs later, Archangel unlocked a door.

The apartment was tiny. Smaller then Lantar's, even. There was barely enough room for a kitchen space, a vid screen, and a bed. A door in the back probably was the bathroom. The place smelled musty. As Lantar's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that liquor bottles were scattered everywhere.

Definitely not what he expected from Archangel.

Maybe it was a safe house. A decoy.

A light flickered on. Lantar turned to watch Archangel pull off the helmet and set it on the counter.

The man wasn't what he expected either. His plates were grey, with a touch of silver. Bold blue markings—Palaven, Cipritine; a privileged background. He wore a visor underneath the helmet, which he also pulled off. The man's eyes—bright blue—were sunken, and his face was thinner than it should be.

Archangel was just as battered as the apartment. Maybe this wasn't just a safe house.

Lantar leaned against the doorframe, unsure of what to say.

Archangel pulled a half-full bottle out from under the counter. "Drink?"

Lantar nodded. Archangel pulled out two glasses, and passed one across the counter. He tipped the shot down before Lantar could even bring the glass to his mouth. The alcohol burned on the way down. It was cheap, shitty stuff. He suppressed a cough and set the glass down, waving away the offer of a refill. Archangel quickly poured himself a second one, and that too, was gone in a flash.

Lantar quickly added "alcoholic" to the list of things he didn't expect from Omega's local angel.

"Sorry about this place," Archangel said, waving a hand. "I didn't exactly expect company."

Lantar shook his head. "Mine's not much better." _Cleaner, though_. "And not having angry mercs prowling around is a bonus I'll take any day."

Archangel chuckled, his mandibles flaring. "They'd be surprised if they did try to find me. I've got the door rigged to explode if anyone tries to force it."

"I guess the precautions make sense, given your line of work."

Archangel nodded. The silence was broken only by the pouring of another drink.

"So…" Lantar said after several minutes, "What's your deal anyway? How'd you end up on this shithole of a station? This can't exactly be a cozy life."

Archangel shook his head with an irritated huff. "Left C-Sec. Figured I could do more good somewhere where there's no red tape to get in the way."

C-Sec. That would explain a lot. C-Sec took only the best. And as worn as Archangel was, he was obviously quite good.

"And you?" Archangel asked. "Your accent says colonial, you've had some training, but you've let it slip, and your face—I'd say Hierarchy, but it takes an effort to slip through the cracks like you have."

Lantar felt his jaw drop. The man had sussed out in a manner of minutes things that he never talked about. His mandibles twitched. "Hierarchy," he confirmed, his tone irritated. "Colonial. Estranged. Now, if you want to do any more prying into my life, feel free, but you're not going to get any answers."

Archangel stared down into the liquor glass. "Sorry," he said. "Former detective. Old habits and all that. Forget I asked."

More silence.

"I don't want to sound ungrateful," Lantar eventually muttered. "You're doing good work. It's just—I've seen this before. Some idealistic type comes to Omega, thinks he can change things, and gets killed trying." He sighed. "Trust me, I would love to see someone actually succeed. It's just—I don't think it'll ever happen."

Archangel looked up at him. "You ever thought of trying it yourself?"

Lantar snorted. "I'm not dumb enough to risk my life like that."

"You're right, you know," Archangel said, finally putting the liquor bottle away. "There's not much I can really do. But you have to try. I learned that from my last commanding officer."

"Ha. That's more likely to get you killed than anything. This is Omega. Optimism doesn't survive here long."

Archangel tilted his head and flared his mandibles. "I've faced the impossible and survived. I can handle Omega."

"I'll make sure to come to your funeral." Spirits, but this guy was cocky. It grated on his nerves. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea. "I'm telling you, whatever engagements you've seen, Omega is worse."

"No?" Archangel hissed, suddenly furious. "Does Omega have geth? What about dead Protheans? _Reapers?_ This is a walk in the park compared to—"

"Oh fuck." The pieces suddenly clicked together. "You were with that Alliance crew that managed to half-destroy the Citadel, weren't you? That crazy commander, spouting off stuff about _killer machines from beyond the edge of the galaxy?_ You just here because you miss your fifteen minutes of fame? Is that it?"

There was a pause, charged with anger. Then Archangel burst into laughter. Lantar's eyes widened, and he took a step back. This guy had to be crazy.

"Fifteen minutes of fame," Archangel chortled. "I haven't heard anything that funny in _ages._ " He breathed in and out for a moment, stifling further laughter. "Thanks for that, I needed a good laugh." He calmed, and looked Lantar in the eye, holding out a hand. "Garrus Vakarian."

"Lantar Sidonis." They shook hands, Lantar still on edge. Garrus's stare rooted him to the spot.

"Omega doesn't have to be this way," Garrus said quietly. "You're right. I'm only one man. I can't do it alone. But you seem to know this place well, and anyone with Hierarchy military training would be useful."

"You're—you're asking me to join you?" Lantar flinched away. "You're crazy."

Garrus just waited a moment, head tipped at an angle.

"I've got no money," Lantar said, "no resources, no reason to _care_. Why do you want me?"

"Because you're as angry about things as I am," Garrus said quietly. "Because you know what living without hope can do to people. And because I think you care much more than you realize."

"I—" He hesitated. But there was something about Garrus. He believed that he could do this. And suddenly, his confidence wasn't annoying anymore. Maybe he was right. Maybe Lantar had more than he knew.

"I'd be glad to have you."

In that moment, Lantar made up his mind. He had no job. He fully did not expect to live until next week. And maybe—just maybe—he could do something good before he died.

This time, it was Lantar who held out his hand, and Garrus who shook it.


	3. Chapter 3

"A little target practice," Garrus quipped. As much as he tried to hide it, the weariness came out in his voice. Maybe bitterness too. _You show up like this, after two years, and act like nothing's changed?_

"You ok?" Shepard asked.

And in an instant, any resentment he might've had towards her dissolved. "Been better," he said. "It's good to see a friendly face." He still couldn't quite look at her, as though she would vanish the moment he met her eyes. _How the hell…?_

"Killing mercs is hard work," he added. "Especially—on my own." _Shit, shit…can't think about that now…_

_She's alive. How is she alive?_

"We got here," Shepard was saying. "I don't think getting out will be as easy."

"No it won't." He stood, feeling himself settle back into old habit—discussing tactics, Shepard bouncing ideas off him. This was how it should be—this was _right_. Two years melted away as he explained his strategy: "We'll hold, wait for a crack in their defenses, and take our chances. It's not a perfect plan, but it's a plan." He sized up the humans in Cerberus uniforms. _Why is she with them? Doesn't matter. They look capable. Let's get out of here alive, then we can worry about whatever the hell is going on._

He hadn't expected to live through this. It was like waking from a long nightmare.  


* * *

  
They ended up sharing the bed. "Just like boot camp," Lantar said.

Garrus laughed. "Just like boot camp. Memories."

He insisted that Lantar take the side next to the wall. Proper paranoia, Lantar figured. It meant that he would be boxed in and would make it harder for him to try anything—if he intended to.

Lantar saw Garrus stash the pistol under the bed before the light flickered out.

Despite the thrashing from his bedmate, Lantar eventually fell asleep. This was probably the safest place he could be, given Garrus's skills with a gun—and the rigged door, besides. Despite his unease with what he'd just signed on to, Lantar could fully relax for the first time in a long time.

 

Garrus nearly dropped the barrel of the gun he was cleaning when Sidonis woke with a cry. "Work—wait."

Garrus chuckled. "If that fire last night was any indication, I think you have the day off."

His guest slumped back into the bed. "Fuck." He lifted his arm and pulled up his omnitool, reading his messages. " _Shit_. Blood Pack is smarter than I thought."

"What'd they do?" Garrus carefully placed the barrel aside.

"They sabotaged the fire suppressant systems, but they were clever about it. Now my boss is being investigated for insurance fraud."

"That hurts." Garrus paused. "Your boss. Decent sort?"

Sidonis nodded. "He's honest, I'll say that for him. I don't know how he manages to do it on Omega."

Garrus tipped his head, ideas flashing through his mind. A warehouse operation would have security cameras. Depending on how destructive the fire had been, some of the footage might be salvageable. He'd worked on tougher cases back at C-Sec. "Wanna exonerate your boss?" he asked.

Sidonis blinked.

"Consider it your training period."

"Yeah." Sidonis flopped out of the bed. "Ok. I—I still own a gun. It's at my place. No armor, or anything. I hope whatever it is you're planning isn't likely to put us into any combat."

Garrus waved a hand. "Guns, armor—I can fix that. How are you in combat? I don't mean when two vorcha get the jump on you. I mean when you've got a commander, and a plan."

Sidonis paused. "Left the Hierarchy military when I was 21," he finally said. "It's been a while since I fired a gun. I can't promise anything."

"Great. First order of the day: food. Then guns. Then we'll do some digging around and see what kind of evidence we can turn up."

 

Garrus was relieved to see that Sidonis still knew his way around firearms.

The shooting range was dank and dirty. Outdated projector equipment provided targets, but the flickering of the display made it hard to get accurate aim. The clientele was generally the smaller merc groups and their trainees; the big groups could afford their own firing range.

Sidonis picked up a smaller pistol. Where it lacked in punch, it made up for in speed. The thing could go thirty rounds between heat sinks. It was a curious choice, Garrus thought, but he waited to make any judgments.

Sidonis's form was still good. The muscle memory was there, it just needed refining. His grip on the pistol was steady. That particular gun didn't have much of a recoil, and Sidonis dealt with it with ease.

He was _fast_. Shaky at first, but soon his speed picked up speed and shot after shot was fired. He didn't have the best aim, Garrus noted, but the shots generally hit the target. Sidonis was utilitarian above all. He wasn't about power or precision; he just made sure that his shots weren't wasted.

Garrus could work with that. There might be trouble down the line; that small kind of pistol was not made for punching through the reinforced armor and shields that the big gangs used. But for now, he was just happy that the guy he'd picked up would be able to hold his own.

After a while, he stopped watching Sidonis's technique and started watching the man himself. His plates were a greenish grey, the color of old copper. When he aimed, he froze like a statue. His face was equally immobile. Garrus couldn't tell what he was thinking. And his face—barefaced. That automatically made him a pariah among turians, and other species who'd picked up on that taboo. Garrus knew better than to judge by place-markings alone, but it was a curious choice. Some were estranged from their place of birth, and didn't wish to advertise it. Some probably enjoyed the notoriety. Garrus was betting on the former. Sidonis did not seem like the type to enjoy extra attention.

The projector finally flickered off, and Sidonis clicked the last heat sink out of the gun. He turned it over in his hands. "Definitely been a while," he said, but his voice was lighter and more sure than before.

"Can you use heavier pistols?"

Sidonis tipped his head from side to side, a gesture of ambivalence. "I prefer speed to anything else. I mean, I can handle heavier stuff, but I'd rather not."

Garrus handed over his own pistol. It wasn't big enough to be considered heavy, but packed considerably more punch than the small one. "Try this. Much newer model. You might like it more."

Sidonis handled the borrowed gun with care. The projected targets started up again, and shots rang out. He quickly adapted to the stronger recoil, and even though the gun was a bit slower, he did not lose any speed. Garrus watched as he settled into a rhythm. After a few clips, Sidonis turned around. "These have definitely come a long way since I was in the military." He was smiling.

Garrus grinned back, a weight lifting off his chest that he hadn't realized was there.

"You'd be amazed," he said. "Some of the Alliance models have found their way onto the market…"

It felt like an eternity since he'd last discussed guns with someone. He and Wrex had always had their arguments on the subject, but—that was a long time ago. Too long. He squashed down the memories and threw himself into a lengthy rundown of improvement in pistol sights.

A rented gun and suit of armor later, and they ended up back at the shitty apartment, Garrus swearing under his breath as he tinkered with Sidonis's omnitool. "…piece of antiquated junk," he growled as the display spat another error back at him. He leaned over and picked his glass up from the floor, and drained it.

Sidonis leaned on the counter, watching. "How long have you been an alcoholic?" he asked.

"What?" Garrus dropped the glass. Luckily it was empty, and didn't shatter on the floor. "I'm not an alcoholic. It just helps me get through the day."

"That's the very definition of an alcoholic," Sidonis said. "Hate to shatter the denial. Now, how long?"

Garrus put down the omnitool and rescued the glass. "…A month. Or two. I don't properly remember."

"Only a month?" Sidonis asked. His voice was quiet. "That's not very long. It'd be easier to quit now than later."

"I don't want to." It was petulant, he knew. But the booze had been his lifeline and he was going to cling to it. "There's a lot of stuff I'd rather not be thinking about right now. It…helps."

"Yeah?" Sidonis growled. "And when it fucks up one of your missions, then what? When you get to the point where you can't aim a gun anymore? You'll end up dead. You won't have to deal with whatever it is you're avoiding. But you'll be dead."

"I won't let it interfere." Garrus glared at him.

"You'd better not, because I'll tell you something. I'm not going to work with a drunk. You're going to get sober, or I'm walking away. I know I'm not worth anything to you, but this is for my own safety as well as yours."

The bluntness of his words stopped Garrus. He slowly set the glass down on the sheets. He didn't know how to react. He was used to having the brass shoot him down, but it was different when it came from somebody like Sidonis. From somebody who he might come to respect.

"I don't think you're worthless," he said.

Sidonis snorted, but didn't say anything. After a moment, he moved over to the bed and picked up the omnitool. "You're right," he said, "it is an antiquated piece of shit. What'd you do to it?"

"Just some basic stuff. Simple radar program. Secure communications line. That was about as far as I got."

"It'll serve," Sidonis said, and slipped the device back on his wrist. "I'd get a new one. Can't afford. Even a refurb."

"I just need more time to play with it," Garrus said. He felt drained. How many drinks had he had tonight? And the night before? When was the last time he hadn't had a drink, for that matter? He'd developed strange sleeping patterns since he came to Omega; some nights he wouldn't be able to sleep at all, and after that, he would crash and sleep like the dead for a few nights. Tonight would be one of the good nights, he could tell. But the night after that?

Maybe Sidonis was right. He took the glass to the sink. "We'll check out the remains of the warehouse tomorrow," he said. "I doubt Blood Pack will be hanging around, especially with the frame-up. We'll see what we can do. Hopefully we can secure the area, find some evidence to clear your boss, and you'll be able to go home again."

Sidonis curled up on the bed, facing the wall. "Garrus?"

"Yeah?"

"Look. Even if we can't work together, I appreciate the help. A lot. Just—stay safe, ok? And consider what I said?"

Garrus shook his head. "I can't make any decisions right now."

"I get it. It's been a long day."

"It's been a long month." _Since the funeral, and since coming here…I can't believe it's been that long._

He plopped down on the bed next to Sidonis. "Bright and early."

A murmur of assent came from the other side of the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Garrus hefted his rifle to his shoulder. For the first time in what felt like ages, his mind was clear. And then Shepard shattered that calm with one question. "How'd you let yourself get into this position?"

And that stung. Garrus did not let it show on his face. She was right. This whole thing was his fault, no matter how you looked at it.

"My feelings got in the way of my better judgement," he said, brushing off the question and hardening his voice. "It's a long story." He clicked a new heat sink into his rifle. How could she do this? Appear out of nowhere, rip open scars that had healed—knowing just where to poke, to get under his skin. He suddenly recalled all the times on the _Normandy_ that she had called him out, and how annoyed he'd been with her at the time. This was no different.

But it was Shepard. She'd done so much for him. He couldn't just brush her off like that. "I'll make you a deal," he said. "We get out of here alive, I'll tell you the whole thing."  


* * *

  
They suited up. Garrus in his blue, Sidonis in the rented suit of light armor. Slipping on the armor helped, Garrus knew. He felt surer, more like _himself_. He knew who he was, and his purpose. It was a rush that booze could not match.

They took the back ways, moving through Omega's omnipresent shadows. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until they got to the block where the warehouse was.

Or at least, where it had been. The structure was desiccated, steel beams hanging at precarious angles, rubble where the walls had fallen in. The whole thing was cordoned off in yellow rope.

That was expected.

What he _didn't_ expect was the garrison of Blood Pack mercs stationed around the perimeter.

"What the fuck?" Sidonis muttered. "It looks like they're guarding the place."

Garrus used his visor to zoom in on the scene. There was a notice posted on a pole. "RESTRICTED. This area is under surveillance by Blood Pack during investigation by Hanshan Financial."

He snorted. "The insurance company _hired_ them to guard the place. How they managed to pull off that scam…" Garrus's voice trailed off. "Well, this complicates things."

"What's the plan?"

"We'll have to find another way in." Garrus gestured around the side. "We might be able to slip down that way. I'll lead, stay on my tail and keep an eye out. We need to stay quiet above all else."

"Affirmative." They slid around a neighboring building, its surface scorched black from the fire. The mercs were shuffling their feet, looking bored, giving passersby intimidating looks. No one noticed two turians creeping past the perimeter.

They clambered up onto a concrete platform. The remains of the building allowed several walls between them and the mercs. Garrus breathed a sigh of relief. "Right. You know this place better than I. Where would we search for surveillance footage?"

Sidonis looked around, trying to get his bearings. "It's a lot different now that it's burned down," he said. "This is a loading dock. The boss's office is right inside."

"Take point, I'll cover you," Garrus said. Sidonis nodded and led the way through the tall loading bay doors.

Inside was a shambles. The ceiling had fallen in, covering the warehouse floor in rubble. Omega's dim lights gave everything an eerie glow. Deep shadows made it hard to find safe paths. Cargo crates were broken open, their contents spilling everywhere.

Garrus kept tight to Sidonis's back. Sidonis carefully stepped, finding stable footholds, and Garrus made sure to take the exact same path. Any careless step, any fall, would make noise and bring the mercs down on their heads.

Sidonis wobbled suddenly, a piece of concrete tipping underneath his foot. Garrus caught his back, steadying him. "Thanks," Sidonis murmured. "We're almost there. Just on the other side of that crate."

They made it to the office without further incident. The lock on the door blinked red, but the doorframe had burned away so that they could simply go around. Garrus pulled off his helmet, suppressing a cough from the dust in the air.

Most of the computers were still intact. Garrus tried to boot the system, and hissed in frustration when he discovered they had no power. He plugged in his omnitool, using its power to feed a little juice into the warehouse computers. Hopefully it would be enough.

Sidonis had pulled off his helmet and was looking over Garrus's shoulder. Garrus's fingers flew over the keypad. "Not bad security," he commented. "This might actually take a few minutes." He sent a worm into the system. In less than two minutes, he was in.

He froze when he heard voices outside.

 

Lantar couldn't pick out words; the conversation echoed off the walls and the sound distorted. His eyes widened, and he looked to Garrus. "What do we do?" he whispered.

Garrus flapped a hand at him. "Go see who it is. Stick to the shadows, don't let yourself be seen. If it's anyone but Blood Pack, try to get them out without killing them."

"If it's Blood Pack?"

"Come get me and we'll evacuate."

Lantar nodded, and tried to quell the shaking in his hands. He drew his pistol and held it out in front of him, bracing against his trembling. He took one last glance at Garrus, and slipped around the office door.

He holed up behind a cargo crate, and ducked down, glancing out onto the warehouse floor. A beam of light was roving over the walls and rubble; someone was carrying a flashlight.

"What a mess."

"It could have been worse; they were in between shipments."

"How convenient." The voice was feminine. "No angry customers demanding their credits back. Really, this is one of the more unsubtle cases of fraud I've seen."

The voices moved closer. Lantar squinted, trying to ignore the flashlight beam. He could barely make out two silhouettes: an asari and a male turian. From the insurance company, no doubt. At least they weren't likely to pose an immediate threat. But how to get them out of here so Garrus could finish his work…?

"If it's so cut and dried, ma'am, then why bother with the investigation at all?"

"Corporate procedure," the asari said haughtily. "Everything has to be double checked."

Lantar scanned his surroundings. Something, anything—

A fragment of steel beam was perched precariously on top of a concrete pillar. He quickly made sure that their heads were turned the other way, then quickly picked his way over to the base of the pillar. Lantar clicked his teeth, and slammed his shoulder into the concrete.

The beam wobbled. He tried again.

With a creak, the beam tipped and fell to the floor. A cloud of dust rose from the impact. Lantar froze. If he didn't move, they might not spot him in the dim lighting.

He could hear the asari's voice. "You assured me that this place was stable. It seems these claims have been exaggerated."

"Ma'am—"

"We'll need to get crews in here to shore it up," she said, disgusted. "More money down the drain. Come. I'd rather not be in here when something larger decides to fall."

Their footsteps receded. Lantar exhaled, holstered his pistol, and made his way back to the office.

Garrus was standing at the computer terminal, scanning over video footage. Every so often the picture jumped and dissolved into fuzz, but it was in surprisingly good shape.

"They're gone," Lantar said.

"Good." Garrus indicated the screen. "I've definitely got enough to clear your boss's name. Take a look."

Lantar leaned in, and Garrus hit play.

The video showed Blood Pack mercs moving around the office, disabling the fire suppressant systems, and making crude jokes. Lantar snorted. Idiots completely forgot about the computer terminals, leaving evidence behind. Shoddy. No doubt Garm would be unhappy when he found out. A few heads might roll.

"I've downloaded it to my omnitool," Garrus said. "Is there anything else we should look into?"

Lantar shook his head. "Let's get the hell out of here."

 

They moved down a few blocks from the warehouse without trouble. Garrus leaned up against a building, and transferred the footage to Lantar's omnitool. "Want to do the honors?"

"Absolutely." Lantar punched his boss's contact info in, hoping that somehow the guy hadn't been killed in the past few days.

The boss answered the call; a hologram of the volus popped up. "Lantar? What is it?"

"Are you ok?"

The volus gave an exaggerated sigh. The boss really could be quite theatrical. "I'm in a safe location," he said at last. "It's been rough. Are you calling for your last paycheck? Because I'm sorry, I truly am, but with the amount this fiasco is costing me—" the volus waved a hand "—I can't afford severance pay. For anyone."

"It's not that," Lantar said. "I turned up some information that might help with the insurance company." He quickly sent the video file, and watched his boss do a resounding double take as he opened it.

"Dear me." For once, his boss was at a loss for words. "Dear me. I'll be suit-breached. This is _incredible_. I won't ask how you got it, but I appreciate this a great deal. Look, I really am sorry about the paychecks, but I'll do my best to make it up to you. We'll see how this goes with the insurance. I'll let you know as soon as possible. Oh, and I got an angry call from your landlord the other day. Might be best not to keep him waiting." The call ended abruptly.

Lantar's stomach sank. "Shit."

"What?" Garrus tilted his head.

"I have to take care of landlord issues. Look, just go home, I'll deal with this on my own. Call you later." He turned to move away, but Garrus's voice stopped him.

"I'll come, it's not like I've got anywhere to be. Are you expecting trouble?"

"Not anything violent. Guy's just a dick, is all."

Garrus's mandibles flicked in amusement. "I can back you up."

 

His backup wasn't needed. Garrus lurked outside of the landlord's office. From the yelling inside, it sounded like Sidonis was holding his own. "Evicted, you bastard, you can't _do_ that, I'm paid through the rest of the month—"

The salarian's voice cut through Sidonis's tirade. "Your boss's little stunt cost me several of my buildings. I know he's not paying you sorry lot anymore—and I have to cover the fire damage to my property as well!" There was a thud inside. "I boxed up your shit. Take it and get out."

Garrus's eyes widened as Sidonis broke into another round of swearing. Garrus was no stranger to foul language, but some of Sidonis's insults were downright _creative_. Especially the one about the egg clutches…he'd have to commit that to memory. It was just too good not to use in the future.

There was a final slam from inside the office, and Sidonis emerged, carrying a cardboard box. He stomped out the door without a word. Garrus silently followed.

Outside, Sidonis dumped the box on the ground. He stood for a moment, breathing heavily, not acknowledging Garrus, who stood beside him.

After a few minutes, Sidonis looked up. "He was a shitty landlord anyway."

Garrus tried to hide his smile. Not really appropriate for the moment. His friend had just lost his home. His friend—who he was not going to dump back into the streets if he could help it. "Sidonis?"

"Hmm?"

Garrus ran a hand over his face. "I…I gave some thought to what you said. Last night, I mean. I—I'll try. I can't make any promises." He was silent for a moment. "And I hope that you'll consider staying on. You can crash at my place and everything. Seems only fair." His brain quickly flashed him an unpleasant image of what sobriety might look like. He squashed it down.

"You're sure about this?"

The question only made Garrus more intent on following through. "Yeah. I am. Come on. Let's go home."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun thinking about alien movies! And thinking about which human movies would be considered classics by the rest of the galaxy (the spy flick is James Bond, by the way).
> 
> Warning for mentions of vomiting at the end of the chapter; nothing big or graphic.

"We better get ready," Garrus said. He kept the façade of calm, but his heart was pounding.

When he'd set up with his rifle and a pile of heat sinks, he hadn't been expecting to get out of this. He was going to die, he'd been sure of that. And after everything…he wanted to. Every shot he'd taken, every heat sink clicked into the gun—it was all just in wait of finality. He'd have died.

And, he realized, if Shepard hadn't gotten here when she did, she'd have never known what happened to him. The thought was intolerable.

"You just do what you do best," he said. "Just like old times, Shepard."

The merc commanders must have realized that the plan to take the base had failed. Garrus could hear the sound of mechs being deployed.

He was going to get out of here. He wanted to live. Now, they just had to make sure that it would happen.  


* * *

  
Lantar carefully set the box down in the corner of the shitty apartment. "You really are sure about this?"

" _Yes_ ," Garrus said again. He'd set his guns down on the counter and was disassembling one.

"All right." Lantar shrugged. "You better not be bullshitting me. First things first." He nudged Garrus aside, ducked under the counter, and quickly found the liquor stash. He pulled out several bottles. "No liquor in the house anymore. I mean it. We'll get rid of the empty bottles too. No reason to have all that shit lying around."

Garrus's mandibles twitched. He didn't look up. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." Lantar poured the remaining liquor down the kitchen sink, and began gathering up and bagging empty bottles. That was a lot of bottles. He hefted two garbage bags full of the things into his arms and backed out the front door. "Where's the trash go?"

"First floor, door off to the left," Garrus called back.

Lantar carefully made his way down thirteen flights of stairs. He balanced the bags precariously, the glass clinking inside. He found the trash room easily enough, and started feeding the bottles into the glass recycler. They'd be melted down, and made into more bottles. More bottles containing more poison, to sink their claws into someone else. Liquor was insidious. It started as a way to relax, then before you knew it, it ruled your life. Lantar had seen it all too often, and had sworn to stay away from the stuff.

He only hoped that Garrus could manage to do the same from now on.

He returned to the apartment to find Garrus already agitated. "This isn't going to work, Sidonis," he said. "I don't have anything else to do with my nights."

"Then we'll find something." Lantar turned on the vid screen and started flipping through the channels, hoping for something interesting. The programming in the Terminus was generally poor, but he eventually found an old turian romance movie. _Parthia_ —it was a classic that took place during the Unification Wars. "Yeah," he said. "Movie night." He turned to Garrus, who was trying to reassemble the gun but to no avail; his hands were shaking. "Sit," Lantar growled. "Don't worry about it."

There were no chairs in the apartment. There was no space for chairs. They sat on the bed, and complained a bit about the awkward viewing angle. Lantar would take a sideways look at Garrus every so often, but Garrus seemed absorbed in the movie, and occasionally groused about inaccurate details.

The movie finished, and a new one came on. Lantar surreptitiously glanced at the time. The evening was passing quickly. The first day or two would be the worst, he knew. It'd already been a good 24 hours since Garrus last had a drink. He seemed to be doing ok so far. Lantar wanted to relax and watch the movie, but the worry remained. Garrus did not seem to pick up on his unease. That was good.

He soon settled back and got into the movie. It was also an older one, but he hadn't seen it before. A salarian intelligence agent was being interrogated over a mission gone wrong. The agent's story got more and more dense and tangled, and Lantar wasn't sure where this was heading. There was something missing in the man's story, he was sure of it—

A commercial came on, and Garrus got up from the bed and stretched. "Be back," he said, and the bathroom door closed.

Lantar leaned back and shook his head. He'd gotten so caught up in the movie. He blinked slowly, and turned his eyes away from the screen. The light from the vid screen cast a dim blue glow in the room. The light from under the bathroom door spilled out, reflecting on the edges of the screen—

There was a photo taped to the bottom of the vid screen. Lantar hadn't noticed it before. He got up from the bed, and bent down to take a look at it.

It was the crew of a starship, standing in formal pose. Mostly humans, in Alliance blue. But there were others too. Lantar gave a start as he spotted Garrus. Garrus looked happier than Lantar had ever seen him. His eyes were bright, not sunken. He stood next to a krogan in red armor, and a quarian in a purple suit. There was a young asari, too. And the humans—

The one human, over at the left. She stood out, even to Lantar, who didn't have much experience at distinguishing between humans. This woman carried a quiet air of command. He took a closer look and his guess was confirmed by the chevrons on her sleeve. And the ship they stood in front of—

So this was the _Normandy_. And Commander Shepard, and her crew. Lantar remembered the news after the geth attack on the Citadel. The crew had been at the front lines, battling Saren Arterius and his army of geth. He'd seen clips of the ceremony in which they all received medals. And then some other news pieces on Shepard's wild claims of something more terrifying than geth. Everyone had dismissed it, of course. And then the _Normandy_ had been sent back out, mopping up the remains of the geth forces. That was all he knew. The news moved onto other stories, and life went on.

He wondered why Garrus hadn't gone with them.

The toilet flushed, and after a moment Garrus came out. He froze when he saw Lantar looking at the photo.

"So this was the crew?" Lantar asked.

Garrus gave a stilted nod. "Movie's back on," he said. Lantar hadn't noticed. He backed away from the vid screen, and they sat back down on the bed.

The plot of the movie was getting even more complex, and Lantar couldn't concentrate. He kept thinking of the smiling, happy people in the photo. Wondering what had happened to turn Garrus into this shell of his former self.

The movie cut to another commercial break, and Lantar decided to breach the question. "What happened?"

Garrus turned to him, his eyes narrowed. "With what?"

"You said you'd resigned from C-Sec. How come you didn't stay with the _Normandy_?"

When Garrus spoke, there was a tone in his voice that suggested Lantar was treading on unsafe ground. But he did answer. "Shepard convinced me to go back to C-Sec. Give it another chance. Biggest mistake of my life."

He looked down at his lap. "I should've been there. I should have died with them."

Ice hit Lantar's stomach. "What _happened?_ "

"They were attacked. The ship went down. Some of them got to safety, but the others—" and there was a catch in his voice, "Shepard didn't make it."

Lantar stared in horror. "I am so sorry."

"It doesn't fucking matter anymore," Garrus said, his voice stiff. He gestured at the vid screen. "Movie's back on. You haven't seen this one before? Keep watching, you'll want to see how it ends."

Well. If Garrus was going to play at normalcy, then so would Lantar. He tried to keep his emotions off his face and watch the movie, but he couldn't bring himself to care about the story anymore. What that kind of loss could do to a person…

He watched mechanically as it increasingly became clear that the salarian agent was actually the master criminal that was being discussed all along. Gunshots sounded on the screen as the salarian shot the interrogator and walked out.

"I didn't see that coming," he said, trying to keep his tone light.

"No one ever does," Garrus replied. His voice was back to normal, and Lantar risked a peek at his face. He seemed more relaxed now, and Lantar relaxed in turn.

"Another movie?" It must have been classics night on this particular channel. This time, it was a human spy flick. Garrus started drifting off, and eventually flopped over. Lantar stood and turned off the vid screen, yawning widely. A snore made him jump. Garrus was well and truly out.

A thought occurred to Lantar, and he started going through the cabinets in the apartment. Since he'd—well—moved in, they'd subsisted entirely on takeaway. His suspicions were confirmed when he found the cupboards bare. He'd have to go out at some point and pick up some food. It'd be cheaper in the long run than eating out all the time. Lantar had a feeling that Garrus did not have to worry about money. The concept was a bit alien to him. He didn't remember a time in his life when he _hadn't_ been worried about money.

He'd worry about food in the morning. There had to be some dextro grocery stores in this neighborhood, shitty as it was.

A few hours later, Lantar was woken out of a sound sleep by Garrus's thrashing. He silently winced and waited for it to die down. No such hope. Garrus eventually tossed off the sheets altogether, and made a frantic dash for the bathroom. Lantar groaned as he heard Garrus vomiting.

He slid out of bed, filled a glass with water and wet down a towel, and carefully entered the bathroom to find Garrus curled up on the floor. Lantar carefully draped the wet towel over the back of his neck; his skin felt like it was burning up. Garrus sighed and pulled himself up against the toilet, only to set off another round of sickness.

When he was done, Lantar handed him the glass of water. Garrus miserably nodded his thanks and rinsed out his mouth. They stayed there for a few moments, and Garrus's breathing slowed to a more normal rate.

"You ok?"

"Yeah."

Lantar helped him up, and guided him back to bed. Garrus collapsed and curled up, shivers setting in. Lantar cleaned up the mess in the bathroom, then slipped back into the bed. Garrus was buried beneath all the blankets. Lantar sighed. It was going to be a long few days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The English word "grenade" is derived from the French for "pomegranate", ostensibly due to a similarity in shape. I laughed my ass off when I found this out.

There was a small thrill in taking down the waves of mechs Eclipse sent at them. Adrenaline surged in his body, and Garrus felt almost like himself again.

"Nice. They barely touched us. And we got Jaroth in the process! I've been hunting that bastard for months."

Shepard, as always, brought him back down to reality. "We've still got Blood Pack and Blue Suns left. Think we can make a break for it?"

"Maybe," he muttered. "Let's see what they're up to."

 _Fuck this,_ he thought. _We're getting out of here. Together. I lost you once, Shepard, and I'll be damned if I lose you again. I may be a failure, but I can do this._  


* * *

  
Garrus remained cantankerous for the next few days. Lantar had to keep reminding himself that if it weren't for Garrus, he would've been mauled by vorcha in a back alley.

The withdrawal symptoms were temporary. They would pass.

Lantar finally went out and got some food, and forced Garrus to eat, despite his complaints. It wasn't anything fancy—he apologized for that—but Garrus just muttered that it was better than the dextro slop served on a human ship. Lantar clung to every bit of positivity that he could wring out of the man. Spirits knew he needed it.

The nausea and shaking passed, but the third day brought on something new. Garrus kept complaining that things were _crawling_ on his skin, that he itched, and that no matter what, he couldn't shake the feeling. Lantar had seen hallucinations before, but nothing of this sort. He kept Garrus distracted as best he could and mentally begged for it to end.

He eventually slipped out that afternoon, needing some space to clear his head. Garrus was asleep. With any luck, he wouldn't know Lantar had gone.

Even the stale air of Omega was better than that in the cramped apartment. He reveled in being able to stretch his legs, to move around, to have _space_. Just for fun, he decided to take a walk down by the warehouse.

They were starting demolition. He watched the wrecking ball swing around for a while, watching the walls crumble down into dust. Just then, his omnitool beeped. He opened the display: message from the boss.

_Everything is taken care of. I'm getting full compensation from the insurance. Here's what I owe you for your paycheck, plus more for your help. I'll also be happy to recommend you for getting a new job._

Lantar checked his account, and sputtered in surprise. That was three months worth of pay.

Maybe they should celebrate.

On his way back, he bopped into a dextro corner store that sometimes had nice things. The bell over the door chimed, and the turian behind the counter looked up. "Lantar! Been a while."

"Rough week," he said.

She nodded. "What can I do for you? Hey, we just got grenad fruit in. Fresh, too. Some visionary up in Fumi District has got this really slick hydroponics operation going." She gestured to a bin of the hard silver fruits.

Grenad fruit. How many years had it been? Lantar imagined cracking open the shell to pull out the sweet seeds inside, the juice bursting in his mouth. "I'll take two."

She grinned and wrapped them up in tissue paper. "Fancy occasion?"

"Just something nice to help get through the week."

"I'll drink to that."

His good mood began to evaporate on the way back to the apartment. Even grenad fruit couldn't make up for having to shut himself back up with Garrus.

He wasn't prepared for what he walked in on.

Garrus was sitting on the bed with a bottle of whiskey in hand. It was almost empty.

"Fuck," Lantar growled. He strode over and yanked away the bottle. Garrus's head snapped up and he swung a fist at Lantar, who caught it. On impulse, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to Garrus's, who froze.

They stayed like that for a few moments, then Lantar broke away and sat on the bed next to Garrus, who slumped against him. The bottle lay on its side, not enough left in it to spill onto the floor. The grenad fruits were in Lantar's pocket, forgotten.

"How much did you have?" Lantar asked after a while.

Garrus groaned. "Not enough."

"How are you feeling?"

Another groan. "Like shit."

Silence enveloped the room, and then it was broken by high keening noise. Lantar tensed in shock.

Garrus was _crying._

Some sort of dam must have burst in his head, because he lay down, his head in Lantar's lap, and sobbed. Lantar didn't know what to do. He was no good at offering comfort. He settled for patting Garrus's shoulder in an awkward way.

"I miss her," Garrus said in between sobs. "I miss her so much.

"I don't know what to do anymore."

 

He didn't know how long he lay there, crying. Everything he'd shut down in his brain came out, and he cried and cried. For the first time since the funeral. For the first time since he'd gotten the news.

The grief was just as raw now as it had been that day.

He was dimly aware of Sidonis, who wasn't saying anything, but purring softly. It was a tone of comfort.

Soon he was able to breathe, and breathe, and his keening died, and he just lay there, breathing, each inhale and exhale shaky.

"Three days."

Sidonis's voice took him by surprise. He turned to look up at him. Sidonis was looking down at him, his face unreadable.

"Three whole days."

Oh. Of sobriety. Garrus braced himself for the yelling that would come—he'd broken his promise, fallen off the wagon—

"I'm so proud of you."

"What?" Garrus croaked.

"That was three days of absolute hell. I don't know how you did it, I really don't. And I know you can do it again."

Garrus groaned at the thought.

"I'm so sorry I left, I shouldn't've left."

"It's not your fault."

"I know I haven't been the best at helping you through this—"

"Shut up, you're fine—"

"I just wanted to let you know that we did it. The insurance paid out."

Garrus managed a small smile. "Guess we did."

"First time in my life I've done something worthwhile, I think. I know it doesn't compare to saving the Citadel and all, but—I think I get why you do what you do."

Shame seized Garrus. He'd dragged Sidonis into all this, promises of doing good and creating justice—and here he couldn't even do good for himself.

"But, yeah. I'll try to help best as I can. I am proud of you, you know. And I think the Commander would be too."

Oh spirits. Shepard. What he'd turned into without her—what she would think if she saw him like this—

It would be like with Saleon all over again. She'd be patient, she'd save him from his own worst instincts, and she'd let him know that she wasn't angry with him. That she knew the galaxy could be so unjust and fucked up, and that you just had to do the best you could against it. Rise up, and be better than what was around you.

He didn't want to do this. But he could. For her.

Garrus sat up. "Excuse me," he said, then went into the bathroom and threw up the whiskey. He then stared into the mirror, taking stock of his face. He looked like shit. But there was a burning in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

I can do this, he told himself.

He walked back out into the main room, and found the bottle of whiskey, which he poured down the sink. "I'm done," he announced. "For good."

Sidonis was turning something over in his hands. A small package. He stopped when Garrus noticed, and gave a small smile. "I got us a treat," he said. "To celebrate." He handed the package to Garrus, who unwrapped it and nearly dropped it when he saw the silver fruit.

"Where did you find this?"

"I have my secrets." His smile was bigger now. Probably the happiest Garrus had ever seen him. "We'll break them open tomorrow. I don't know about you, but I could use some sleep."

"Yeah." He placed the grenad fruit on the counter. "Sleep sounds good. Hey. If I'm feeling ok, let's go hunting tomorrow. See what kind of trouble we can find."

Sidonis spread his arms. "I suppose I did sign on for that."

"You're not going to wiggle out of it just by saying nice things to me," Garrus said. Sidonis laughed.

Archangel was back.


	7. Chapter 7

Mopping up Blood Pack was easier than he'd expected. With the extra guns, Garm was quickly relieved of his backup. And with the extra guns, well—

"This day just gets better and better."

Payback was supremely satisfying. Garrus could still remember the panicked look on Sidonis's face—

But now it was down to Blue Suns. They could take them. Shepard, her Cerberus squad, and Garrus—he started laying out a plan.

"Tarak won't be expecting to meet us head on—"

And then the window shattered.  


* * *

  
Well, Archangel was back. Just not in top form.

Garrus spent the next day down with a pounding headache. In lieu of hunting, he had Sidonis disassemble and clean all the guns—twice—polish armor—twice—and then sent him out with a long shopping list—heat sinks, the expensive kind—a new scope, and a gadget that could intercept encrypted communications for the breaking. Oh, and painkillers.

Sidonis didn't complain. Garrus had a feeling that he was just happy to get away for a while. He'd sworn up and down that he would not use Sidonis's absence as a way to sneak more booze. He meant it.

His headache was almost forgotten when Sidonis returned. Garrus started going through the packages. Sidonis watched with an amused expression. "It's like watching a kid on their Naming Day," he said when Garrus glared at him.

While they were at it, they broke into the grenad fruit as well. The traditional way—smashing the shell open with a hammer and then submerging it in water to let the seeds float out of the rind. Then picking out the seeds and enjoying the fresh, sweet juice inside.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve this," Garrus joked. The seeds were almost gone.

"Saving my ass might have something to do with it." Sidonis batted his hand aside to grab one of the last seeds.

"Heh. Maybe."

It was the first happy day Garrus had had on Omega.

 

The next day, Garrus picked up some gossip thanks to his new encryption breaker. Arlo was back on Omega. He grinned through the headache. This would be good.

He debriefed Sidonis as they suited up: "I was tracking this bastard back in C-Sec. He's a notorious drug runner. One of the biggest red sand operations in the galaxy. He's also Jaroth's brother."

"Who's Jaroth?"

"Runs the Omega branch of Eclipse. Arlo's got powerful allies, as you can see. He's been evading justice for years. I hope we can change that."

"What's your plan?"

"Recon. Get intel. I want to know exactly how Arlo spends his days. Where does he go, who does he spend time with, how many mercs he keeps around him. Once we know that, we can figure out a way to slip past his defenses. For all his notoriety, he's not a much of a fighter himself. Relies on others to do the dirty work. He just coordinates everything."

They moved out.

 

In some ways, the absurd darkness and labyrinthine manner of Omega aided them. Garrus rented a skycar, and surreptitiously parked it on top of an empty building by an Eclipse compound. They set up for stakeout; omnitools tuned into local frequencies, a sniper scope purchased on a stand for surveillance, and plenty of snacks.

Voices scratched over the radio as Garrus twitched the tuning. He leaned in and listened. "A group of five is accompanying Arlo to this location," he said, sitting back. Sidonis nodded and squinted through the scope.

"It looks like they're out in force. Not that I make it a habit to hang around merc bases, but there are way more Eclipse here than normal."

"Gotta put on the hospitality for the boss's brother," Garrus said.

When Arlo arrived, he was swiftly escorted into the building. The radio channel sputtered, and fuzzed out. None of Garrus's efforts could bring it back into focus. "Damn. We're gonna be in the dark for a while. They've probably got some sort of jamming technology that I can't break."

Arlo didn't emerge all evening. Sidonis eventually started nodding off. Garrus waved a hand at the skycar. "Take a rest," he said. "I got this."

Sidonis glared at him through heavy eyelids. "You've been having trouble sleeping again, haven't you?"

"When you wake up, I promise I'll get some rest."

Sidonis didn't argue, and crawled into the skycar.

Several hours later, they traded off watch shifts. "Anything?" Sidonis asked as he settled in to wait. Garrus shook his head.

He lay in the backseat of the skycar, trying not to toss and turn. He still couldn't sleep, but he didn't want to worry Sidonis. He'd given the guy a run for his money over the past week. Garrus winced at the memories. Despite the headaches and the insomnia, he really was feeling much better. He wanted to put all that behind him and forget it'd happened.

It had been a shitty way to honor Shepard's memory. But now—he was going to do better.

He eventually dozed off, and woke a few hours later. It wasn't the most restful sleep he'd ever had, but better than nothing. He sat next to Sidonis, who was idly listening in on the radio.

"I managed to get through," he said. "According to this, Arlo is going out for dinner tomorrow evening with Jaroth. Fancy place up by Afterlife. Serves dextro, if you fancy some closer observation."

"Excellent." Garrus quickly pulled up the details on his omnitool. He looked up a few minutes later. "We have a reservation. Hope you're hungry."

Sidonis snorted. "Are you kidding? That place would cost me a month of my salary. I bet it's worth it."

"It's a date," Garrus said wryly. "Anything else?"

"Nah. They've been inside all night. I only found out about the dinner because a few guards let it slip over the coms."

Garrus grinned. "You know, it really pays to be underestimated. I bet the gangs will be surprised when Archangel moves in on their dealings. Everyone thinks he only goes after street crime."

Sidonis shook his head. "They're fucking sloppy. Blood Pack, now this. I'm surprised. I really thought the big orgs would run a tighter ship."

"No need for them to." Sidonis blinked, confused. Garrus went on. "Omega's a pretty safe space for their dealings, all concerned. Aria's really the one balancing all this out. As long as they don't fuck with her, then she'll leave them alone. And I don't think she would take too kindly to warfare between the gangs. Omega's a safe haven as long as they don't cause carnage in the streets. They're too smart to piss off Aria. In return, they can conduct their operations safely."

"That sounds like a very delicate balancing act."

"Aria's a lot smarter than she comes off as. It keeps her safe as well; manipulate people and don't let them realize they're being manipulated." Garrus grinned. "I intend to change all that."

"You're going to fuck with Aria?"

"I'm not going to fuck with Aria. I'm just going to run the gangs off Omega. After that—we'll see. But it's a place to start."

Sidonis shook his head. Garrus got the feeling that he was holding back comments on how crazy the whole idea was.

The next few hours passed uneventfully. They took turns with the scope, peering down at the compound and counting mercs. After a while, they made a game of it, seeing how many individuals they could identify. The numbers were not promising. There were too many to attack head on. They wouldn't be able to get to Arlo out in the open. A more subtle plan was needed. The gears started churning in Garrus's head.

Sidonis interrupted his planning. "I'd forgotten how much I hate stakeouts."

"Yeah?" Garrus let his thoughts go, deciding that he would need to sleep on it. "You do many of those in your unit?"

"We intercepted a lot of slave dealers," Sidonis replied. "We'd spend days just watching them. Never missed that. Never missed anything about the military, really."

"You said you left at 21?" Garrus asked. "What happened? That's—really early. To leave Hierarchy service altogether." He'd been wondering about that for a while, but hadn't had the chance to bring it up.

There was a long pause, then Sidonis sighed. "You probably deserve to know," he said slowly. "I got discharged."

"What for?"

"Insubordination."

Garrus snickered. "Oh, I know that feeling."

Sidonis's reprimand was sharp. "No, I don't think you do. I refused a direct order that would have gotten me killed. I refused, and the rest of my unit went in and died. The CO finally figured out what a fucking coward I am, and got rid of me."

Garrus sat back, stunned. He would never have guessed. "I—but you've stuck with me. What really happened?"

"You think I'm lying? It's—" Sidonis sighed again. "I'm afraid of death. I don't have anything to live for. Haven't in years. But the thought of dying scares the shit out of me. If I'd gone in on that mission, I'd probably be dead anyway. But I'm still alive, and even that's better than dying. Somehow. I told you. I'm a fucking coward. Can't even kill myself and end everything."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Garrus trying to wrap his mind around everything. "I—I can't promise you anything," he finally said. "But I will do my damndest to keep you alive. Trust me on that."

Sidonis's face did not waver from its bitter expression.

"I—you—" Garrus looked down at his hands. "I don't know how long it would've taken for the booze to kill me. But I think it might've. I guess—well, I saved you once. You repaid the favor."

"Twice. You saved me twice."

"Whatever. Point is, your life isn't worthless. I told you, I'm happy to have you here. I'm sorry I've been such a shit the past few days."

Sidonis shook his head. "I told you not to worry about it. Alcohol—that stuff screws with your mind. I've seen it before. I'm just glad you're feeling better."

"You know," Garrus said, "I really _am_. And I'm going to feel even better when we kill Arlo and C-Sec can close the file on him. It'll be _good_."

 

They sat up on the roof for the rest of the night, confirming their merc counts. The hours blurred together. Lantar eventually declared it a night and crawled into the skycar to catch a few hours sleep. Garrus remained at the scope.

Lantar sat for a few moments and watched Garrus. Garrus was sitting hunched and stiff over the scope, intense in his concentration. Lantar had seen a few snipers before in his military days, and it always amazed him how they could funnel everything they had into their focus. Garrus was no different. With a scope, he sat like a statue, only his eyes moving.

Lantar lay down on the backseat and curled up. His head was still spinning. He'd never told anyone about the story behind his discharge from the military. And Garrus—he'd _reassured_ him, not called him out on being a coward, or ordering him away, or any number of other things.

He didn't know what to make of it.

And promising to keep him alive.

That was more than anyone had ever done for him.

Lantar knew, rationally, that it wasn't a promise—especially with their particular brand of crazy—but he clung to it, like a scared child to a toy. _I'm not going to die_.

_And life might actually be worth living from here on out._

He woke up when Garrus tapped on the window of the car. "I think we're done here," he said. "I thought we might actually want to shower; we have dinner tonight, don't forget."

Lantar groaned, sleep ebbing away from his brain. Dinner…right. Expensive dinner. In the same room with a big-time drug runner. And Garrus. He wasn't sure which factor he was most nervous about.

They returned the car to the rental shop, and went back to the shitty apartment. Lantar's legs were stiff from sitting so long, and his joints cracked going up the thirteen flights of stairs. "You sound like an old man," Garrus joked. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty seven."

"Oh hey. Only a year older than I am."

Lantar poked his shoulder. "Kid. Why am I taking orders from you?"

"You're only older by a year."

"A year's still a year."

"Ha."

They stripped off the armor, stale from going three days without a break. "You can have the shower first," Lantar said. Garrus nodded.

Fancy dinner. Shit. Lantar dug through the box of things he'd brought from his old apartment, and tried to find something suitable. Most of it was just workman's clothes, and heavy boots. If nothing else, they would have to blend in while tailing Arlo.

Finally he found something. A set of traditional Palaveni clothes. He couldn't remember how he'd acquired them, but he'd never worn them. Not too many turians dressed traditionally anymore, at least off-world. The clothes were formal, as far as he knew. They would do.

Lantar sat on the bed and turned the bundle of clothing over in his hands. There was no reason he should be so nervous about this. True, he'd never done undercover work. But Garrus had. It was just dinner, and spying on a person who happened to be eating at the same place. No big deal. Right?

Maybe it was the money. Garrus seemed to have no issue when it came to money, throwing the stuff around like there was no tomorrow. The gun, the armor, food, fine. Lantar could accept those as business expenses. A very expensive dinner was harder to accept. He'd order something on the cheaper end, he knew. It was a function of growing up poor. There was a certain pride involved. The idea of accepting extravagant handouts rankled him.

Or maybe it was being in the same room with a drug runner and his people, out in the open, with no place to hide and no way to protect himself. They would only bring pistols, Garrus had said. Carrying pistols was accepted as normal on Omega, even in a fancy restaurant. Any heavier guns would tip the mercs off that something wasn't right. If something went wrong, there was a high chance that they wouldn't make it out.

Or maybe it was—

The bathroom door opened, and Garrus emerged, dressed in a formal navy suit. "All yours," he said. "Have to be presentable when tracking down criminals."

Lantar snorted. If everything went well, they would be just two turian patrons in a restaurant, and the mercs wouldn't even glance their way.

One nice thing about Omega was that the hot water never ran out, Lantar mused. Excess heat from the eezo processing was funneled into all the districts and used for heating buildings and water. There was no such thing as waste on Omega. There couldn't be; an asteroid in the middle of nowhere was strapped enough for resources as it was. The heat felt so good after sitting for days on end, and he could feel the stress of the past week melting off his back.

—Or maybe it was Garrus. The last factor in his nervousness rose in his mind, and he turned it over.

So far, they'd been partners in this crazy Archangel venture. Not just partners, though. Lantar had confessed things that he'd sworn never to tell anyone. Garrus had laid his head in his lap and sobbed. They'd done a favor for his old boss. They'd suffered together and celebrated together. Lantar was pretty sure that they'd end up dying together. No one could take on the gangs of Omega and survive. But here they were, trying to do so anyway.

There was a trust between them that guided things. Lantar could have refused, that first night. Said, "No thanks, I think you're crazy, thank you for saving me and walking me home, but I will not help you in this suicidal venture." But he hadn't said that. He'd shook Garrus's hand on some sort of crazy whim, and stuck with him, even through dealing with withdrawal and stakeouts.

He could have said no. But he didn't.

And Lantar realized that even if death was right around the corner, that he still didn't want to say no.

It wasn't because he wanted to take on gangs and make Omega a better place. It wasn't because of that at all. Lantar was disillusioned enough to know that any difference they could make would not last long.

It was because of Garrus.

And he didn't want to confront that in his mind. He didn't want to understand why he'd stuck by this crazy bastard so long.

_"It's a date,"_ Garrus had said.

The words had taken on a significance in his mind that he was not comfortable with.

He shut off the hot water and dressed, taking his time with the unfamiliar clothes. A long tunic that covered the arms and neck. Designed to protect from the sun, yet keep the wearer cool. The color was dark teal, and there was a complex floral pattern printed on the fabric. The color matched his plates rather well, Lantar thought. The pants matched in color, and the shoes—if he'd been on Palaven, he would've worn sandals, but a pair of boots that went up his leg and hooked around his spurs were more suited to Omega.

He looked in the mirror, surprised. He looked every inch a Palaveni gentleman. Only his bare face gave him away.

It was like putting on a costume. This wasn't him. Lantar Sidonis. Disgraced soldier, washed up laborer. And now, vigilante.

It might be easier to face the world if he were something other than himself.

"Nice," Garrus said when he came out. "Haven't seen an outfit like that in ages. It suits you."

Lantar ducked his head in acknowledgement. "What time is the reservation?"

"1800. I want to be there a little before Arlo and Jaroth get there."

"Sounds good." Lantar checked his pistol, and holstered it. His mouth was dry. Time to do this thing.


	8. Chapter 8

The window shattered. Garrus swung around.

"ARCHANGEL." Tarak's amplified voice rang out.

Garrus ducked down and bolted for cover. He wasn't fast enough. As the first shots caught his shields, he remembered his sergeant from training.

_"You must keep control of the battlefield at all times. The moment you lose control, you are dead."_

He stumbled and fell, caught in the hail of bullets.  


* * *

  
Lantar was almost ready to back out when they reached the restaurant.

"You ok?" Garrus asked him, glancing sideways.

"Just the whole going-to-dinner-with-violent-criminals thing," Lantar replied, keeping his voice light. "Does wonders for your peace of mind."

Garrus laughed. "Well, if things get out of hand, the food should at least make up for it."

"Right. Because I can focus on food quality while getting shot at," he replied.

"We're not going to get shot at." Garrus thumped him on the back. "Relax."

A human waiter sat them at their table. Lantar scanned over the menu, and his heart sank. "Garrus, I barely know what half these dishes are."

"Yeah," Garrus said absently. "It's very Palaveni style. I take it you've never been…?"

"No." His eyes moved up and down the list of items. He tried not to look at the prices, for his own sanity.

The waiter returned. "Would you like to see a wine list?"

Lantar held up a hand. "No. Thank you." The waiter nodded and left.

Garrus stared at him. "I wouldn't begrudge you a glass of wine."

"I don't want one." Lantar stared back, daring Garrus to comment.

Garrus just shrugged and went back to looking at the menu.

Lantar's heart was pounding. He tried to distract himself, turning his menu around and pointing out one dish. "What's this?"

Garrus glanced down. "Fermented meat sauce. Very savory stuff."

"And this?"

"Ah—organ meat, I think. Never had it. Not really my thing."

"Right." Lantar pulled the menu back and buried his nose in it, trying to remember the little bit of Palaven-Standard he knew in order to try and translate some of the food words. He couldn't concentrate on food right now. He surreptitiously glanced at the time on his omnitool. 1815. His foot drummed under the table.

Garrus finally closed the menu. "What are you thinking?"

_What am I thinking? I'm thinking too much. Too much about you, Garrus. I've seen you at your worst, but I want to see you at your best. I want to repay all the trust you've put in me. I want you to be happy; I want to see you like I saw you in that old photo, standing tall and proud. I don't want there to be any barriers between us. And yes, I want to drag you into bed and get to work on tearing down those barriers. I want to see your soul bared before me, and I will bare mine in turn. I think I'm in love with you, you stubborn beautiful person, and I don't know what to do with that._

Instead of saying all that, he pointed to an item on the menu.

"Oh yeah. Good choice."

The waiter took their orders, and left. Garrus's head suddenly picked up. He nodded to Lantar. "Our food's arriving."

Too late, Lantar realized that he was sitting with his back to the door. He didn't turn his head, but watched out of the corner of his eye as two salarians were seated. Their guards took up station at the tables around them. One of them was armed to the teeth, but the other was dressed in fancy clothing and only carried a pistol.

"Heavy fare," Garrus commented. "Might be better divide up those portions."

Lantar snorted. "Bad food metaphors aside, what should we be watching out for?"

"Just anything that could be useful. Don't make it too obvious. And what's wrong with my food metaphors?"

When the food came, they ate in silence. It really was excellent. The meat was cooked so well that it fell apart on the two-pronged fork, and the sauce was savory and bursting with flavor.

"…1500 hours. On the dot." Lantar could hear the conversation from the two salarians spilling out into the room. He didn't look up from his plate, but twitched a mandible. Garrus acknowledged with a small dip of his head.

"Docking bay 3A?"

"Yes. And don't skimp on the labor this time. I need it unloaded by 1800, or the commission drops by 15%."

"Of course."

Lantar looked up at Garrus, who looked thoughtful. He was planning something. Lantar returned his attention to the food, determined to enjoy it. There was bread too, the gritty stuff favored by turians. He used it to mop up some extra sauce. Definitely worth the price, and the threat of drug runners. Luckily, the salarians paid no attention to anyone else in the restaurant.

The evening was turning out a lot better than he anticipated. All messy emotional complications aside, Lantar found himself actually relaxing.

The salarians eventually left, not even bothering with the after-dinner menu. The mercs filed out behind them. Garrus sat back. "I have a feeling that the brothers aren't on the best terms at the moment."

"Definitely not." Lantar flicked a mandible in a half smile. "Can't let business get in the way of family."

Garrus chuckled. "Well I have enough information. That shipment he's got is tomorrow. That's when we'll make our move."

Lantar's heart started pounding. "Already?"

"If we wait too long, we'll miss our chance." Garrus stared him in the eye. "Don't worry. It'll be fine."

_I wish I could believe that. Stakeout is one thing, but engaging a bunch of mercs in combat is another._

That night, their positions reversed. Garrus seemed to sleep relatively well, and Lantar was the one lying awake. He stared at the ceiling of the shitty apartment. He could die tomorrow. They both could. Street crime was one thing. Trained mercenaries were another.

He'd walked the line between life and death for a long time. Death still scared the shit out of him. He expected it. But he did not want to go.

And now, in this shitty apartment, lying beside the only friend he'd had in years, the friend he was falling in love with, who'd promised to stick by him and keep him safe, Lantar was more terrified than ever.

For the first time in so long, he had something to lose besides his life.

 

"It's fine," Garrus snarled.

"You're sure?" Sidonis crossed his arms.

" _Yes_. I've fought through worse than a headache." This headache, however, probably ranked among the worst he'd had. He quickly transferred a list from his omnitool to Sidonis's, ignoring the pounding in his skull. "We'll need these supplies."

"Concussive rounds? Smoke grenades? What the fuck are you planning?"

Garrus grinned, clenching his jaw against the pain. "Ambush. They'll never know what hit them. Trust me. It'll be safer than engaging them head-on."

"If you say so." Sidonis's voice betrayed his doubt. Garrus was getting better at deciphering his normally inscrutable emotions.

"I'll fill you in later," Garrus said. "Just be back by 1100. And don't worry about the price. Get the best you can buy."

The door slammed behind Sidonis, and Garrus dragged himself to the counter and downed two more painkillers. It felt like a krogan was burrowing into his brain and stomping around. His hands shook.

 _I can do this,_ he told himself. _I can do this._

He collapsed onto the bed, hoping that he might be able to sleep off the pain before Sidonis got back.

No such luck. If anything, his head felt even worse when Sidonis came back with the equipment. "Suit up," he said tersely. "I want some time to scout out the area before they get there." He pressed the smoke grenades into Sidonis's hand, along with the radar jammer Tali had gifted him; it was cobbled together out of geth bits. "We're going to waylay them, set off the smoke, them pick them off in the chaos. Hopefully they'll be too surprised to react quickly. Your helmet has infrared—you should be able to see them even with the smoke and jammed radar. You'll be on the ground. I'll be up higher. It'll be over before they can scream. Once it is, we break for it."

"Got it."

He took a few more painkillers before they left.

The loading docks hummed with the usual activity, but Arlo's shipment wasn't in yet. Garrus retraced the route from the docks to the Eclipse compound, getting a feel for the terrain.

There was an intersection on one of the main thoroughfares. The surrounding buildings were mostly empty; only debris remained. Narrow alleys divided out the area. There was plenty of cover.

"We'll set up here," Garrus said. He pointed to one of the alleys. "Hunker down and get cozy. I'm going up top."

Sidonis only nodded. Garrus watched as he settled down behind a dumpster, then he made his way up several stories. He perched on a balcony which gave him a nice clear view of the intersection. They had a few hours until Arlo would come. Nothing now but to settle in and wait.

He had a really good view of the Omega skyline from here. Towering and gloomy. _Like something out of a Reaper's brain,_ Garrus mused, thinking back to the devastated landscape of Ilos. But on Ilos, all the horror was in the past.

On Omega, it existed right now.

 _What am I doing?_ The question hit him suddenly. _I'm in the biggest shithole in the galaxy, trying to take on ruthless mercenary companies with just one other person. This is going to get us killed._

_Do I have a death wish?_

Ever since Shepard had died, his life felt empty. Pointless. Maybe he was really looking for death this whole time, and only hiding behind the idea of dealing out justice.

The thought disturbed him.

He couldn't die. If only for the sake of Sidonis, who'd made his feelings quite clear on the topic of suicide missions. Someone was counting on him. Sidonis was here, wasn't he? Despite his fear? He'd pulled Garrus out of his liquor-fueled tailspin, and stuck by him.

It was more than anyone had ever done for him. It was what, he realized, he'd done for Shepard. Stuck by her. And kept faith.

_I can't die. I can't think about that._

_Not when someone is putting that kind of trust in me._

He steeled his resolve, and checked the time.

1400 hours. They were now into the window of opportunity. Garrus wasn't sure when Arlo would pass the ambush site on his way to the docks. They'd better be damn ready. There wouldn't be much time once it started.

A few minutes later, he could hear the hum of a skycar approaching.

"Standby smoke," he ordered.

"Standing." Sidonis's voice came over his helmet com.

Garrus squinted through his visor as the car came into view. It was definitely Arlo. The heat signatures showed that it was loaded with salarians and asari, all armed to the teeth. He lifted his rifle to his shoulder and gazed through the scope, tracking the car's movement. Right there…he exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

His shot caught the engine, and the car spun from the force of the impact and started to descend. "Smoke go," he said into the mic and there was a clatter as one of the smoke grenades rolled into the street and went off.

The mercs shouted as they evacuated the car. "Fire at will," he told Sidonis, taking advantage of the confusion to pick off an asari.

Gunshots rang out in the street. The mercs weren't idiots, they could pinpoint the general direction they were being fired upon from. A few rounds hit the building Garrus was in, and he ducked behind the balcony rail. He could hear the steady shots from Sidonis—Garrus was happy to note that his speed was not diminished in an actual combat situation. A few heat signatures faded from his visor, including all the salarians. He squinted through the smoke, and saw a well-dressed salarian corpse in the street. _Got him._

The smoke started to dissipate. "Smoke round two, go," he said.

"Negative." Sidonis's voice was strained. "One of them's on me—" A shot sounded over the com. "—Shit. My shields aren't going to last much longer. Just die already!" he screamed, and Garrus could hear a few more rounds being fired.

"What's your status?" Garrus kept his voice calm, but his heart rate increased. He would be damned if Sidonis got killed in their first firefight.

"She just—fuck—"—a gunshot—"keeps coming." Another gunshot. "Fuck!" His voice cracked. "Shields at zero, that last shot grazed me."

A beeping in his visor distracted Garrus, and he turned his attention back to the downed skycar. A warning was flashing in his vision. "Sidonis, get out of there. Just run. Don't worry about the merc."

"She just won't die—!"

"Sidonis, I'm serious!" Garrus abandoned his cool. "Retreat now!" The warning signal was getting louder, and Garrus could hear swearing over the com—

The eezo in the skycar's engine had reached critical. The car exploded in a gout of blue flame. Garrus ducked for cover, and static fuzzed in his ear.

He swore. His helmet filters took care of the smoke and dust, and the temperature controls in his armor whirred. The explosion had released a wave of heat. He could hear the pattering of debris falling everywhere.

Garrus flew down the stairs of the empty building and out into the street. The static continued. "Sidonis?" he said. No answer.

The skeleton of the car was burning, charred corpses of the mercs surrounding it. He checked his radar. It was jammed. If Tali's device was still functioning, then he could only hope that Sidonis was ok…

He raced to the mouth of the alley. There was a dead asari, covered in burns. "Sidonis?" he shouted. He didn't see anyone. Just the asari, and a dumpster—its surface was buckled in from the heat wave.

Garrus followed the alley to the end, hoping against hope that Sidonis had somehow made it away. There was no one in sight. He started to tremble. Shit, no. This could not be happening.

He ducked down a connecting street. Focus. He needed to find Sidonis. Or Sidonis's body. He refused to let the man go without knowing his fate. _There was no body at Shepard's funeral._ The thought drifted up from the depths of his brain and stabbed him in the heart. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to get himself under control.

_Breathe. Just like you're lining up a shot._

It was stupid, but somehow hefting the rifle to his shoulder and sighting down the scope helped slow his racing heartbeat. After a few moments, he lowered his gun. Then a flash from his visor distracted him.

The radar was back on. He must be out of the jammer's range. Wait—

If he was out of range, then it must be back there somewhere. If he could find the radar jammer, he might find Sidonis with it.

Garrus started moving down the street, mapping out the edges of the jamming signal. He paused before the end of the alley. There was no other answer. The jamming device was still there. So where was Sidonis?

He entered the alley again. Maybe he'd overlooked something.

There was no place to hide. Except—

Garrus pried open the lid of the dumpster, and Sidonis was huddled up inside. He tilted his head up to the light, and pulled off his helmet. Garrus's heart thumped in his chest. Sidonis was gasping for fresh air, and there was some blood on his shoulder, but other than that he looked all right.

"Spirits, Sidonis," he said. "You scared the shit out of me."

Sidonis coughed. "The explosion fried my com. It was buzzing so loudly, I couldn't hear anything." He shook his head as if to clear away the shock. "I think my armor's temperature controls are down as well. It was like an oven in there."

"Are you ok?"

"I guess."

Garrus exhaled. "Good. Let's get out of here before someone comes to find out what happened."

Sidonis just sat there.

"Sidonis, come on." Garrus grabbed his shoulder. "We have to move." Only when his hand was on Sidonis's shoulder did Garrus realize that the man was shaking as badly as he'd been a moment ago.

"Lantar." Garrus dropped his voice. "Let's go."

Only after that did Sidonis allow Garrus to help him out of the dumpster and guide him out of the alley. They took the back way out, Garrus wanting to put as much distance between them and the ambush site as possible.

 

Sidonis sank down onto the bed as soon as they got back. "Armor off," Garrus said. "Let's see the damage."

Sidonis set the helmet aside, and unlatched his top. Garrus inspected each piece—the wires were thoroughly fried. Then he turned his attention to Sidonis's shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but he wet down a towel and threw it to Sidonis anyway.

"It's fine, really—" Sidonis started, but Garrus cut him off.

"Who knows what was in that dumpster," he said. "You really don't want that infected."

Sidonis grumbled under his breath, but complied and cleaned out the wound. His hands were still trembling. And then Garrus picked up on it too, his hands starting to shake enough that he had to stop fiddling with the wires in Sidonis's helmet and set it down. His breath came in gasps. What was this? He hadn't come out of a firefight feeling this awful since his first tour. And then words were pouring out of his mouth, and he couldn't stop—

"I fucked up I fucked up spirits I'm so sorry I fucked up—"

Sidonis had tossed the towel on the counter. He froze as Garrus ranted, his eyes wide and his mandibles flickering.

"Fuck." Garrus buried his head in his hands. "We're alive. I can't believe—that was the stupidest fucking mistake I've made and I'm so sorry—we're alive. Oh spirits. We're alive." He reached out, laying a hand on Sidonis's shoulder, reassuring himself that they were indeed still alive. And then Sidonis took his hand, and they were embracing, heads buried in each other's shoulders. He could feel Sidonis shaking with silent sobs, and Garrus pressed closer to him. _We're alive. That's all. We're alive. It could be so much worse._

_They could be in boxes, like the humans did for their dead, being lowered into silent earth—_

"We're alive," Sidonis repeated, his voice cracking. "I panicked, I shouldn't've—"

"I got us in too deep too fast," Garrus said to Sidonis's shoulder. "There's no way we can take on merc companies. Not yet. And I—I think I'm out of my depth here."

"No—"

"I've only ever worked on my own, or under someone else's command," Garrus confessed. "In bigger squads. I—I don't know if I can do this."

"We're alive." Sidonis's embrace tightened. "Just—I don't want to think about it otherwise."

Garrus let out a shaky breath. "Yeah." A sudden fear gripped him. "If you—don't want to stay on—anymore—I understand."

" _No._ " He was surprised at the vehemence in Sidonis's voice. "I made up my mind. I'm sticking with you."

And a rush of gratitude seized him. Gratitude, and other emotions. Too much all to think, to process—all the grief and hardship of the past month—and he didn't want to think anymore, just ride out those waves of emotion and drift away like the clouds at the end of the rainy season on Palaven. To stop feeling—or maybe to feel everything, but in new ways.

"We're alive," he whispered. "Maybe we should celebrate."

And to make his meaning clear, he dipped his hands lower, resting them on Sidonis's waist.  
Sidonis stilled for a moment, and Garrus was suddenly terrified he'd made a mistake. But then Sidonis relaxed, and pressed his forehead to Garrus's. "Y—yeah," he replied. "We should."

They didn't break apart, but their hands were everywhere, drinking in each other's touch. Reassurance, maybe, that life still existed, that they were ok and that they would be ok. It seemed to go on forever, but eventually they were out of their armor, breath coming faster and faster, bodies warm and pressed together.

Garrus paused again. "Sidonis, I—I've never—with a man," he stuttered, looking away.

And Sidonis caught him again with his gaze, his eyes, green and piercing. "It's—I'll show you."

And then they fell back onto the bed, Garrus on his back, Sidonis positioned above him. Sidonis hesitated a moment, looking uncertain, but Garrus reached up and touched his cheek, stretching up to once again press their foreheads together. And they began.

 

Afterwards, Lantar collapsed on top of him, and they lay there, catching their breath, and purring softly. The fear was chased away. Lantar rolled off of Garrus and curled up next to him, taking in his warmth.

He didn't know what to do now.

Garrus sat up. "I'll be back," he said, and went into the bathroom. Lantar could hear the shower running.

He shivered at the sudden loss of warmth.

He pulled the blankets up and buried himself in them. It hadn't been mindblowing. But he didn't need mindblowing tonight, and he suspected that Garrus didn't either.

Lantar wondered what Garrus thought of this as. Glad-to-be-alive sex? A casual thing between friends? Or something romantic? Loving? He knew which he wanted it to be. He didn't know if Garrus felt the same.

His musings were interrupted when Garrus returned and slipped beneath the blankets, still naked and his skin hot from the shower. They twined together, copper patina and silver, and Lantar reached out and traced the markings on Garrus's face. Garrus shivered at the touch and resumed his purring. Lantar flicked a mandible in acknowledgement.

"Why don't you wear place-markings?" Garrus asked, his voice husky.

Lantar swallowed. "I never felt the attachment," he said. "I had them removed. Felt too much like wearing a lie. Omega's my home."

"Too bad there aren't markings for Omega," Garrus murmured. He reached out and touched Lantar's nose. "The humans, their name for this place is the last letter of their alphabet." He began to draw a shape on Lantar's face, starting on one of his cheeks, arching over the bridge of his nose, and back out to the other cheek. "I think that's what it looks like," Garrus said. "A sort of broken circle."

"What color would it be?"

"Red, probably. Or gold."

"You think?"

"That's what colors I think of Omega as, yeah."

Lantar smiled. "Gold, I think. Red would look strange on my plates."

"Yeah? You should try it sometime."

"I think I'd get stranger looks wearing a completely new marking than I do being barefaced."

Garrus chuckled. "Maybe. You could just do paint. Wear it on your own time."

"Maybe." Lantar took Garrus's hand.

There was a moment of silence. And then Garrus spoke. "I am sorry. I—I have to revise the way I think. Figure out how to handle combat situations with these circumstances." He pressed his forehead to Lantar's. "Next time will go better, I promise."

 

The vid screen was on when Lantar woke up. Garrus was sitting on the floor with a soldering iron, and watching the news.

Garrus turned to him as he sat up. "Nothing yet."

"What?" Lantar yawned.

"I was hoping we'd make at least the morning report."

"Oh." Lantar slid off the bed and pulled on a set of work clothes. Garrus turned back to his armor repairs. The iron hissed.

"Have you eaten?"

"No."

Lantar went through the fridge. "I can do vactas," he offered.

"That's fine."

Lantar set a pan on the stove to heat. There was a clang from behind him. Garrus had dropped the piece of armor he was working on. "This is us!"

They leaned in to the vid screen.

"An Eclipse convoy was attacked yesterday. There were no survivors. Eclipse leadership denied accusations of gang warfare, and refused further comment. Rumors are circulating that the attack is the work of the vigilante Archangel, who has not been active in several weeks. However, this is unlike any previous Archangel attacks. No groups have stepped forward to claim credit."

Garrus clenched his fist. "Yes! We even got a mention. Excellent."

"Why is that excellent? The gangs will be gunning for us now."

Garrus waved a hand, and picked up the soldering iron again. "No they won't. We only go after street crime, remember? Speaking of which, let's go hunting tonight. Remind people that Archangel still exists, and hasn't changed tactics."

The pan sizzled, and Lantar dropped the frozen balls of dough in the oil to heat up. Smells of spice filled the apartment, drowning out the metallic smell of solder.

Garrus picked up the helmet and frowned. "I'm out of several gauges of wire I need."

"Does it really matter?" Lantar tipped the pan around. "It's rental anyways. They can fix it."

"More fun to do it myself," Garrus replied absently.

"We'll go shopping today. We're out of food too."

"Sounds good."

Garrus refused to eat, even when Lantar glared at him. "Gizzard's been feeling off," he grumbled. "I'm sure it's delicious."

"Are you sure you're up for going out tonight?"

"I'm fine," Garrus said. "You fuss too much. Just like Shepard—did."

It was like the air was sucked out of the room.

"She looked after her crew," Garrus elaborated.

"I can't do the same?"

Garrus looked him the eye. "If something's wrong, I'll let you know."

Lantar looked down at his plate. "Ok," he said. A niggling thought in his mind resolved into something more solid. Had Garrus been in love with his Commander? It was normal enough to mourn the loss of a trusted commanding officer, and a brave soldier, but this grief seemed to go beyond that.

It _would_ be unusual for a turian soldier to look for love upwards the chain of command. Garrus wasn't a good turian, Lantar knew full well. It was probably why they got along so well—Lantar had always been an outcast among his own people.

No. If there had been love there, Lantar suspected it was only on Garrus's part. He wasn't sure if he was comforted by this conclusion. He broke apart a vactas, savoring the fried dough and the spices.

Last night had been wonderful, but he hated this new uncertainty in where their relationship stood. He didn't want to live in hope if there wasn't any.

No. He'd have to ask Garrus, sooner or later. The idea terrified him.


	9. Chapter 9

That was it then. He'd lost control of the battlefield the moment that gunship had made its appearance. Garrus ducked behind a chair, but it wouldn't hold long.

He tried to make a move, find more secure cover, but in the front of his mind, he knew it was over. His body was just scrambling, trying to find a way out.

They were dead. They'd failed.

And then pain burst in his head. His vision whited out, and he fell, barely registering his body hitting the floor.

He could hear Shepard screaming his name.  


* * *

  
Lantar had left Garrus puzzling over new gun mods. Such things held no interest for him.

The bell over the door chimed. The turian behind the counter looked up. "Any fresh fruit today?" Lantar asked.

She shook her head. "No. The hydroponics guy is in between harvests at the moment."

Lantar shook his head. "Well, give him my regards. And tell him that there are people on Omega who would kill for more."

She grinned widely. "Will do."

He picked out food for the next week, and paid for everything. His attention was caught by a plant on the counter. It was tall and thin, with little purple flowers hanging from the stem. "What's that?"

"Oh the plant? I have no idea. It's from Thessia. I figured it might be nice to have something alive and growing."

"Yeah." Lantar leaned in for a closer look. The flowers were variegated and bell-shaped. "Pretty."

"You think people would be interested in those?" she asked. "I had thoughts of selling them, but I dunno. Flowers aren't really high on peoples' priorities around here."

"I'd buy one," he said.

"Cool. I'll see what I can do for you. Check back in a few days." She passed him the bags of food. "Have a good one."

"You too." The bell chimed on his way out.

Garrus tossed him a visor when they got back to the shitty apartment. "Since your helmet's dead," he said. "Figured it might be useful. As well as help hide your face."

Lantar turned the visor over in his hands, his stomach sinking at the thought of how much it must've cost. "I can't accept this."

"You can and you will." Garrus unwrapped a few spools of wire. "Give me an hour and your armor should be ready."

As evening began to draw in, they strapped into armor. Lantar lowered the visor onto his face and booted it up. A green glow shone in his vision, and he looked around, getting used to the sensation. He could see Garrus's heat signature on the display.

"Let's go."

They vanished into the night.

 

Two muggings, and a beatdown. It was simple. Lantar moved in on the ground, and if the perpetrator put up a fuss, Garrus took them out from above. Lantar's remaining fear dissolved quickly, and they went back to the apartment in good spirits.

Lantar sat on the bed and fiddled with the settings on the new visor, nodding absently when Garrus grabbed a bag and excused himself from the apartment. Lantar could live with this. Street crime didn't have the same element of danger that merc targets did, and it felt good to help ordinary people. He and his old coworkers had been ambushed and mugged so often that they'd developed tactics to minimize the damage. Carry extra credit chits with small amounts on them to appease the mugger, don't talk back, and be polite.

Fighting back was infinitely more satisfying.

Eventually he put the visor aside, wondering where Garrus had got to. He opened the apartment door. Garrus was leaning on the railing outside, gazing out over the Omega skyline. He held a silvery cigar.

"Replacing one addiction with another?" Lantar asked, standing beside him.

"Ha." Garrus exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night. "You know my real addiction is a good firefight."

"Yeah, well." Lantar looked over the railing down to the streets below. "Either way, your addictions will get you killed."

Garrus was silent for a moment. "It's not that."

"Not what?"

"It's an old Palaveni thing…the smoke helps you communicate with the spirits. Not many people think of it that way anymore."

"Oh." It hit him in the moment, just how much he didn't know about Garrus. He hadn't known the man was spiritual in any way. Lantar wondered what else he didn't know, and then his thoughts turned to how much Garrus didn't know about _him_.

He didn't ask which spirits Garrus was trying to speak with. That seemed too personal for the moment.

They stood there for a while, sharing a companionable silence. The smoke swirled around Garrus's head, and Lantar caught musty smells of spice and warmth. It evoked an idea of what Palaven might be.

Lantar inhaled. He only thought of spirits as a nebulous concept, as much as he swore by them. The idea that they were there, all around, and could be talked to, asked for guidance…

What was Garrus thinking? What questions did he have in his mind?

He wanted to know.

Last night hadn't diminished his longing for the man; rather, it had only strengthened. Lantar wanted to know everything, to share in hopes and fears and dreams and old sins and interesting stories. He wanted to say the words "I love you", to taste them on his tongue like the smoke.

But Lantar was a coward.

Garrus finally stubbed out the cigar, and the last wisps of smoke vanished into the night.

Lantar couldn't help asking. "Did they respond?"

"Mmm." Garrus hummed noncommittally. He looked down. "I know it sounds silly," he said. "But it helps."

"I wasn't poking fun."

"I know."

Lantar's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Garrus…" He hesitated. "About last night…"

"Yeah?"

Lantar weighed the response. Garrus didn't sound upset, or weirded out. Maybe that was a good sign. "I don't know…would you want to do that again?"

Garrus looked up, a small grin spreading over his face. "Next time," he said, "how about we celebrate a mission gone right."

Lantar's heart pounded in his chest. Next time. Garrus had said "next time". "You're not already planning another attack on Eclipse, are you?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

Garrus's grin widened, and he tilted his head in a rakish way. "There _is_ this slave dealer I've been thinking about…"

Lantar punched him in the shoulder. "You _are_. Spirits, you _are_."

Garrus laughed. "He's the worst slave trader ever. Manages to kill more people than he sells. Everyone refuses to deal with him because of that. He'd be easy pickings."

"Yeah, that's what you said last time." Lantar threw his hands up in mock dismay.

"That is _not_ what I said."

"Yeah, yeah."

"We'll give it a few more days," Garrus said. His voice dropped. "We were fine tonight, right?"

Lantar smiled. "Yeah. Tonight was good."

"Good." Garrus bent down and picked up the bag, turning to open the apartment door. He turned back to look at Lantar. "I'm glad."

 

The next few days passed without incident. They spent a lot of time at the firing range, Garrus poking Sidonis's form into better shape, schooling him on various types of guns. On his downtime, they did some recon on the slave trader. What they found was promising; the batarian had a small warehouse in the slums. He had no guards. In all the time spent gathering intel, only one shipment of people arrived, and it only contained two humans. Nothing left the warehouse, except empty liquor bottles.

His instincts had been right. The guy would be easy pickings.

But he didn't want to press too hard, not yet. Garrus was still reeling a bit from the Eclipse fiasco, and he could only imagine how Sidonis felt.

He was amazed that Sidonis had stuck around after that.

They settled into a comfortable routine. Firearm training, equipment maintenance, recon. It was like the first few weeks on Omega, except this time Garrus was sober, he had a purpose, and he had a friend. He couldn't help thinking of it as a second chance.

And speaking of second chances…

It wasn't so much taking out the slave trader that he was looking forward to, but the rush of the promised victory.

For the first time in so long, his life was good.

 

That night, Sidonis came home with a potted plant.

Garrus squinted at the thing. Tall and spindly, with vibrant purple flowers. "Why…?"

Sidonis looked down. "I thought it might be nice to have something alive in the house."

"We're alive," Garrus pointed out.

"Something besides us. Something that's just nice to have."

Garrus didn't understand it at all, but it made Sidonis happy. So he gestured to the counter. "It'll look nice next to the sink."

Sidonis positioned the plant with care, a smile drawing over his face. It wasn't that his emotions were hard to read, Garrus realized. It was that he didn't let them show unless he was comfortable doing so.

Garrus liked that smile.

He wanted to see it more often.

"Tonight," he said.

Sidonis looked up from the plant. "What?"

"That slave trader. Let's go tonight."

Sidonis swallowed, his throat bobbing. "Not a lot of time to prepare."

"I don't think we'll need it," Garrus said. "We're as ready as we'll ever be."

As the evening drew in, and the streets bustled with people heading home, going for a drink, or heading to night shifts, two turians strolled through the slums. Casual, armed no differently than any other person on Omega.

Garrus set his visor to a high intensity scanning program, which could penetrate through several layers of material. It tended to run the visor hot, so he couldn't use it for long. He squinted into the display. A batarian sat in the warehouse next to some panels that were glowing faintly; the operation's computers. There were two human signatures sitting on the floor. No one else was present.

It would be easy to storm the warehouse and take the slaver by surprise. But the guy could easily make a break for it.

"Give me your omnitool," he said to Sidonis, and uploaded a program. "This will lock down doors. Hard to crack if you're not expecting it." He gestured around the back alleys. Only a few beggars lurked in the shadows, vorcha picking through the garbage. "Get around the warehouse. Seal all the exterior doors. We're bottling him up in there."

"That means we'll only have one exit if things go wrong," Sidonis muttered.

"I can disable my own locking program. It's not a problem. I'll keep an eye on the front door. Go."

Sidonis vanished into the red shadows. Garrus kept an eye on the signatures in the building, his pistol at the ready.

His heart thrummed as he caught glimpses of Sidonis working around the building. The loading dock. A maintenance exit. Inside, the batarian raised something—a glass? a bottle? —to his mouth, and Garrus had to clamp down on the sudden urge in his brain for a drink. He couldn't be thinking about that now. Not ever.

Sidonis returned, and Garrus switched off the scanning program on his visor. "You ready?"

Sidonis nodded, his mandibles clenched tightly to his jaw, and raised his pistol.

Bursting through the front door was a little anticlimactic. The batarian screamed and dropped the liquor bottle, which rolled around, spilling alcohol everywhere. The humans, contained in a cage built into the wall, huddled up as far away as they could.

They looked to be badly beaten. Garrus snarled. And that was before the stench of old bodies caught his nose.

With growing horror, he realized what was under the tarps in the corner.

The batarian was drunkenly rummaging through a desk drawer, probably looking for a gun. Sidonis leveled his pistol at the man. "Stop right there."

The batarian froze, and slowly held his hands up. His eyes flickered between the two turians staring him down.

"Whatever you want," the slaver gasped. "Money. Slaves. Hell, take those two. They're fresh."

A bullet to the brain would be too good for him, Garrus thought.

The batarian's fake grin faded as they remained silent. "You're not going to shoot me, are you?" the batarian said, his voice growing desperate.

"I'm not," Sidonis said. The batarian relaxed, for just an instant—"He is."

Garrus took aim and fired.

Sidonis jerked back as blood and brain spattered from the slaver's head. The body slumped over, gore oozing from an eye.

Sidonis stared down at the corpse. "Spirits. You got him in the eye."

"Batarians believe the soul leaves the body through the eyes," Garrus said, holstering his gun. He could hear the chill in his own voice, and reveled in it. "Best keep him trapped in there, as he rots away."

Sidonis stared at him for a moment, his mandibles flickering in—triumph? horror? It was hard to tell. Whatever it was, he shook it off quickly and went to the cage where the humans were contained. In the moment, Garrus had forgotten about them.

Sidonis couldn't get the lock off, but he knelt down. "It's ok," he called to them. "You're safe."

Garrus had the lock open in seconds. He stepped back as the humans stood. The man's legs were shaking. The woman just looked haunted.

"Do you have any place to go?" Sidonis asked.

They shook their heads. "The colony's probably been burned to nothing by now," the woman said. "I don't…I wouldn't know…how to get back."

Garrus pinched his nose. In C-Sec, he'd always had the resources of the organization to draw on. On the Normandy, the Alliance would handle a situation like this. But now he was on his own, and he was quickly realizing that he didn't know what to do with them. There was no safe place he could send them to. Not on Omega.

Sidonis looked back at him. "There's a free clinic," he said. "In the slums. Not far from here."

"A clinic? Is it safe?" Two unarmed humans walking around would be easy prey.

Sidonis offered an arm to steady the human man, who was still shaking. "There are rumors about the doctor who runs it…" he said. "What I do know is that the Blue Suns tried to make him pay protection money. I think he's still got the bodies on display outside."

Garrus's eyes widened. "Sounds good to me. Point the way."

They shadowed the humans through the alleyways, made it to the clinic without incident, and a receptionist ushered the humans inside. He could hear Sidonis breathe a sigh of relief. "So," Garrus murmured. "Mission gone well."

"Does this mean we celebrate?"

"You bet your ass it does."

He glanced back at the desiccated corpses in Suns armor as they left. Whoever this doctor was, he might be a valuable person to get to know.


	10. Chapter 10

It all happened so fast. There was an explosion, and Garrus crumpled to the floor. Shepard ducked into cover. The roar of the gunship drowned out all rational thought, but only amplified her rage. She was screaming Garrus's name.

It was the first time she'd felt alive since waking up on that table. All those weeks of nothing, of the blankness she felt as she stared into the mirror, trying to process the ugly scars on her face—it was like finally reaching the surface after nearly drowning. Seeing Garrus again, hearing the bitterness in his voice, and being so angry on his behalf (not to mention fearful for their lives— _his_ life)—and it was all for nothing.

She barely noticed as the gunship went down under her fire. Shepard dropped her gun, and scrambled to where Garrus lay.

Blue blood pooled on the floor. She said his name over and over again over the wet rattle of his breathing. His hand twitched, moved towards his sniper rifle, and she pushed it into his grasp, like a child nursing a toy. "We're getting you out of here," she whispered. "Hold on."

Praying (and she _never_ prayed), she opened a channel to the _Normandy_. "We need medical evac, now." She paused for a moment, listening to his breathing (he was still breathing), and repeated the distress call.

_I will not lose you._  


* * *

  
All thoughts were chased from his head as soon as they made it back to the shitty apartment. Garrus burst into laughter and twirled Sidonis around. "That was a great line," he said, grinning. "'I'm not going to shoot you, he is?' Perfect. Like something out of a vid."

Sidonis ducked his head. "I wasn't going for dramatic."

"Shut up, that was beautiful." Garrus pulled off his visor and tossed it onto the counter. "This is how it's going to be from now on," he promised. "We're going to do some _good_ on this rock. We'll be unstoppable." His grin widened. "Archangel, protectors of Omega."

"Yeah, been meaning to ask, what the fuck _is_ an archangel, anyway?"

"Human spirits of protection and justice," Garrus elaborated cheerfully. "Badass. They carry big flaming swords and toss evildoers into hell."

"Uh huh." Sidonis punched his shoulder. "You sure that's all true?"

"Who cares? It sounds awesome. It wasn't my idea, anyway. Just a nickname."

Sidonis just plopped down on the bed and stared up at him. Garrus twitched a mandible. "Ah? What?"

"I was just thinking."

"Too much thinking, not enough celebrating." Garrus arranged his weapons on the counter and started stripping out of his armor.

"You look like you did in that photo. Happy, I mean."

Garrus dropped a gauntlet with a clang.

"It's—I didn't mean—" Sidonis scrambled for words. "I want you. Happy. I mean—"

"—That photo?"

Sidonis stood and stared at him. "I've never seen you that happy, ever. But tonight—I guess it comes close."

"I thought we were celebrating," Garrus muttered. He pressed his forehead to Sidonis's, taking a moment to revel in Sidonis's wide-eyed expression. Wide-eyed in something besides fear, which they both knew too much about.

He preferred this expression on Sidonis's face.

"We are celebrating," Sidonis said. He began divesting Garrus of his remaining armor. "But don't you want to slow down and enjoy it?"

"I can go slow." He leaned in, drawing his tongue along Sidonis's neck. Sidonis shivered underneath his touch. "Better?" he purred.

"Mm—yes."

It was better too, Garrus thought. Slow down and savor victory. Savor every moment, every touch, every piece of armor hitting the floor—it was a kind of camaraderie that Garrus hadn't felt since his last tour. The people at C-Sec—they were too stifling, too uptight. The _Normandy_ crew—well, they'd wound up friends forged in fire, but there wasn't this feeling of intimacy. Not like this.

Taking their time, breathing in scents of smoke and gun oil—and a softer scent on Sidonis, like some of the spiced food he'd been cooking.

Garrus liked it. He liked the way Sidonis moved so carefully, with attention paid at each moment. He liked the act itself, this new feeling of fullness and having Sidonis's weight pressed down on him, their breaths mingling. He tipped his head back, his fringe digging into the thick pillow, and Sidonis pressed his face into Garrus's exposed throat, gently nibbling at his neck.

He liked the way Sidonis shuddered when he came, himself following shortly after.

Sidonis lay curled into his side, Garrus embracing him. Their breathing had slowed, sinking into that slow rhythm approaching sleep.

Sidonis was sweet when he purred, Garrus decided. More a vibration than an actual sound, it was low and quiet and caring, much like Sidonis himself.

"I love you," Sidonis murmured.

Garrus stiffened, all traces of sleep gone from his mind. He stared at Sidonis in shock. Sidonis froze too, realizing what he'd just said.

"I—" He untangled himself from Garrus, sitting up. "I didn't mean to—Not like that—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drop that on you like that—"

It took Garrus a moment to find his voice. When he did, it was raspy. The only word he could get out was "Why?"

Sidonis stared at him. "What do you mean, 'why?'" His voice rose. "Because you saved me, and I'd probably be dead if I hadn't met you? By my own hand if not by mercs? Because you don't think I'm just a fucking coward, and that you trust me? Because I know you're hurting, and I want to see you happy?" Words poured out of his mouth. "Because you're the best thing that's happened to me in years? Those aren't good enough reasons?"

"Look at me!" Garrus interrupted, his breathing sharp. "I'm a drunken failure, all right? I ran away because I couldn't face my friend's death, and I couldn't look them in the eye. Not the people who'd been there when I wasn't." He slumped over, burying his face in his hands. "Why the hell would you...fuck."

"Because you're better than that, Garrus," Sidonis said quietly. "I'm not under any illusions, ok? I've seen you at your worst. I wanna see you at your best. I just want you to be happy." Sidonis looked down. "I'm sorry I sprang that on you like that. You don't have to reciprocate or anything. I don't expect you to. I just...fuck. I don't know. I'm sorry. You don't need to do anything for me. I don't want you to." He sighed. "Can we just pretend this didn't happen?"

"I—" Garrus looked back up at him. Sidonis looked miserable. "I don't know what to say right now," he said. "Can you give me a few days?"

"All right." Sidonis lay down and curled up, his back to Garrus, not touching him.

Garrus reached out to him, his hand on Sidonis's shoulder, happy that Sidonis did not flinch from his touch. He cautiously snuggled up to him, wishing that they were happy and purring, as before.  


"How long?" he asked.

Sidonis let out a breath. "Since…stakeout. That first one, going after Eclipse."

 _That long_ , Garrus realized. A week? A week and a half? Spirits, it felt like they'd been together forever.

 

They didn't talk about it in the morning. Instead, Garrus did some discreet hacking of the dead slave dealer's financials, quietly seized the remaining credits, and deleted all of the dealer's contact and trading information. Now no one would be able to swoop in and use those assets for running more slaves.

Sidonis walked out early in the morning, determinedly not looking Garrus in the eye. He returned a few hours later; Garrus had finished moving around credits and was cleaning the guns.

Sidonis dumped his bag out on the counter. Garrus's eyes widened when he saw the fresh produce. "Where did you find that?" he asked. He hadn't seen much fresh food on Omega at all.

Sidonis sorted the vegetables into the refrigerator. "Doesn't matter," he said. He still didn't look up. Garrus watched for a moment, then turned his eyes back to his pistol. He had, Garrus realized, to sort things out in his mind, and quickly. He hated this stalemate they'd been trapped in all morning. Avoiding it would probably only make things worse.

 _"You don't have to reciprocate. I don't expect you to."_ Sidonis's frantic words ran through his mind. The man was probably kicking himself over the awkward position he'd put Garrus in, not to mention the bad timing of everything.

It was an awkward position, Garrus mused. Probably not for the reasons Sidonis thought, however.

The truth was that Garrus wasn't sure what it was like to be in love with someone.

He slowly reassembled the gun, trying to make his thoughts click together as easily as the pieces of the weapon did.

He knew that sex had nothing to do with it. He'd been in a dozen casual relationships, through his military and C-Sec career. None of them had the thought of love attached to them, and that had been fine.

Enjoying spending time with someone? Wanting to see a person happy ( _as Sidonis had mentioned_ )? Loyalty? Faith? Trust?

Garrus wasn't sure where the lines were drawn. He'd felt that way about friends and respected colleagues before ( _especially Shepard. Spirits, don't think about Shepard. That was something that ran even deeper, something Garrus did not have words for_ ).

But love?

Just what the hell did Sidonis feel for him?

 

They didn't have to make eye contact when their armor was on and they went out hunting for street crime.

Over the coms, it was like nothing had changed between them. They worked with a fluidity, moving in time, like their gunshots were the beat in a dance.

But then they found something strange. The crimes they were gunning for had already been broken up, and all they had to do was mop up a few severely bruised criminals.

They did look each other in the eyes when they got back to the shitty apartment. Someone was moving in on their dealings. Another vigilante? Or the gangs trying to throw Archangel off their game?

Whoever it was, they threw a good punch.

Sidonis shook his head, pacing around the apartment. "This isn't right. Maybe we should back off for a while."

"Come on. You're not the least bit curious?"

"No, I'm not. I'm more interested in not getting killed by this new faction."

"Relax," Garrus said. "We're not going to get killed. I have a feeling we might have a potential ally."

"Just be cautious, ok?"

"Of course." Garrus fiddled with his omnitool, trying to see if there was any sort of security cam footage of their mysterious friend. If there was, he couldn't figure out how to access it, and gave it up after a while.

Sidonis flopped down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Garrus looked over at him, and noticed that his hands were shaking.

"Hey," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You ok?"

Sidonis rolled over and faced the wall. "Just—everything was going well and now this. Why can't things just go well for a while?"

"Hey." He put a hand on Sidonis's shoulder, which quivered under his touch. "I'm sure it's nothing dangerous. And even if it is, that's what guns are for. We'll be fine. We'll figure everything out, then back to business as usual." He curled up next to Sidonis and hugged him, willing this panic to pass. Sidonis sighed, but said nothing. His trembling slowly stilled.

Garrus let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Maybe this was it. Holding someone until they calmed down, offering reassurance, while swearing to one's self that the other would never find themselves facing their worst fears.

Forcing someone to face their fears.

Was that love?

 _You called me out on my bullshit,_ Garrus thought. _You saw I was broken but you didn't give up, and you handed me the glue to put back together the pieces. You dragged me out of my self-pity, you gave me something to focus on, you showed me how to properly honor my friend. When I was in need of a good Shepard-style ass-kicking, you provided. I may have kept you from being killed, but you saved my damn life, and you did so even though you didn't realize you were doing it._

_And I'm not sure how well I've been able to do the same for you. You know that I'm hurting, but you are too, and I'm not sure how to help._

At that moment, Garrus realized that they were probably still holding back a lot of things. _I barely know anything about you, except that I want to keep you safe and I want you at my side._

_And if you ever want to tell me more, I will accept it and treasure it as part of you. No matter how bad it gets._

He swallowed. Maybe this was love after all.

They fell asleep, Sidonis in Garrus's arms.

 

They were on the alert the next evening. It was recon only, Garrus insisted. No breaking up crimes, no chasing down criminals. Just moving through the streets of Omega, and watching. Looking for their mysterious friend.

A few hours passed, with nothing to show for it. The streets were remarkably quiet tonight, Garrus noticed. The people who were out kept to themselves and seemed to be out on actual business. And what was more, people seemed a bit less fearful than usual.

A bubble of pride rose in his chest. If this new atmosphere was the result of Archangel's nocturnal activities, then they really were making a difference.

They were doing something good.

A shout drew his attention. He whipped his head to follow the sound, Sidonis doing the same. Without a word, they drew their guns and followed the sound of the commotion.

They came to the back door of a seedy bar, only to witness two forms vanishing into the night. A man who'd been huddled up against the wall gave a yelp and quickly followed.

The only one left was a tall human who was breathing hard.

They didn't lower their pistols as they approached the human. The human must've heard them, because he whirled to face them, his fists up.

And he just as quickly lowered them.

He broke into a big toothy human grin. "You're him," he said. "Archangel, right?"

Garrus tilted his head. The man was tall and broad, with huge shoulders. His skin was dark, darker even than Captain Anderson's. He wore ordinary work clothes, and his fists were wrapped in tape.

Garrus slowly lowered his pistol. "Might be," he said. "What's it to you?"

The human shrugged. Garrus could see muscles rippling through his clothing. "I didn't expect two turians, really. Thought you people were more straight-laced than that."

"Than what?" Sidonis asked.

"All this vigilante stuff. Hey, don't get the wrong idea!" he said, quickly raising his hands in the air. "Big fan. I admire anyone who has the guts to take this shit on."

"And you got the idea to do the same thing yourself?" Garrus asked.

The man's face dropped, and he looked down. "If you guys want me to stop… I didn't mean to take your jobs from you…wait. Hang on. You never said that you actually are Archangel."

"No, but trust me, if we were hostile to the idea, you'd be dead already," Garrus said. "Relax. We just didn't expect to find anyone trying to do what we do. We figured no one else was stupid enough. What's your story, anyway?"

The human looked up. "Well…my wife's pregnant. And, you know, I've lived here for so long that I guess I'd just got used to how shitty the place is, right? But man…it just hit me one day. My kid's gonna have to _grow up_ in this. And I don't want them to. Figured I should try to see what I could do to change things around here. Only it's hard to change this place. You push, Omega pushes right back."

"Yeah it does," Sidonis said quietly. "How long have you been here? What's your name?"

"Ten years, maybe? Was stupid enough to try mercenary work when I was young, and I washed up here. Found salvation on this hunk of rock. My wife. She saved me. Oh. My name. Donald Butler."

The man's speech was like gunfire, Garrus thought, coming in bursts. "Well, Butler," he said. "Don't take what I'm saying the wrong way. You're good. We were surprised last night. But listen to me: if you want your child to know their father, you'll give it up."

Butler scratched his chin. "Yeah? And you guys do this without regards to your loved ones?"

Garrus and Sidonis looked at each other. Garrus couldn't read Sidonis's expression, not with their helmets on.

"There's a thing about being estranged," Sidonis finally said. "No one gives a shit if you live or die."

 _What happened to his family?_ Garrus wondered.

And then Sidonis was saying something else. "If you want to actually have a chance of living through this, you'll join up with us."

_What?_

_Wait a minute._

Butler lowered his arms and stared at them. "You're sure?"

 _This might actually be a good idea. With more manpower, we can take on bigger and bigger missions._ Ideas sparked in Garrus's brain. _More people to cover each other, more people to work different aspects of a plan…hell, if I had enough manpower, I might be able to take on the big gangs. And come out without a scratch, unlike last time._

He thought back to his idle musings about running the gangs off Omega. _Hell, this might be possible after all._

_Lantar Sidonis, I fucking love you._

"If you're serious about this," Garrus found himself saying, "meet us in the marketplace tomorrow. 2000 hours on the dot."

Butler's grin returned. "I'll see you there." And then he was walking away.

They watched him go.

"I love you," Garrus said.

Sidonis turned, his posture stiff. "Why? I mean—you're not just saying that—?"

"No, I'm not just saying that. I spent all of yesterday thinking about it. And I guess I didn't realize but now I do."

Sidonis looked away. "Let's go home," he said. His voice was slightly embarrassed, Garrus noticed, but there was happiness there too. Garrus grinned, wishing he could see Sidonis's face and revel in it.

Things were clicking into place.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! And welcome to Part 2, in which we build a squad (and things get domestic). Love isn't always easy, and vigilante work isn't always easy either. But with the right people, you can make it work.

There was blood everywhere.

Coating her hands, her arms, her knees where she had knelt. Shepard was torn between the urge to scrub herself down to the bone, and her need to _know_ if he was going to be ok.

Garrus was in the doctor's hands. Capable hands, but this type of trauma went far beyond the usual field injuries that Chakwas was always patching up. Add to that the fact that Garrus wasn't human, and that they didn't have a massive stock of dextro supplies—

Shepard eventually gave in, and went to the bathroom. She scrubbed her hands over and over again until the water ran clear. Maybe there was a bit of human blood from the harshness of her washing. It all went down the drain.

 

He was going to be ok.

For the first moment since Garrus had been brought in, Karin Chakwas took a deep breath and let herself relax. She checked his vitals one more time, then snapped off the rubber gloves.

Garrus was sedated for now, the ventilator making a rhythmic sound as it breathed for him. The extent of the damage…Karin had rarely seen the like. He might've lost the mandible entirely if she hadn't had several cybernetic components leftover from the Commander's procedures. She'd put in implants to restore the hearing on the damaged side. His eye was untouched. Karin didn't believe in miracles, but this might be a small one.

She sat, reviewing the surgery in her head and typing up the details for a report. Barely breathing, she'd had to intubate him to keep him from choking on his own blood. Wash off the wounds, see the extent of the damage…cybernetic repairs, skin grafts, sutures on the thin skin of his neck. Loaded up with antibiotics (quarian rather than turian, but the difference was minimal), and rehydrated to make up for blood loss.

Now there was nothing to do but wait for the sedation to wear off.

Karin just hoped that Garrus's mind would be in a better state than his face.  


* * *

  
Garrus was being too free with money again.

Lantar watched as he passed over a credit chit to the waiter, and then looked at the remains of lunch. A classy café in one of the nicest areas of Omega, and lunch for three didn't come cheap.

Lantar remained silent as Garrus cracked up at the punchline of Butler's joke. They chuckled for a few moments, then Garrus started telling another joke, one even dirtier than the ones that had preceded it.

Lantar just sighed and tipped his head back. There really was no reason for being so grumpy, he couldn't explain it. The past few days had been going fine. Butler was an excellent addition to their team; he took orders well, but knew when to improvise; he was fearless in a fight, and was even willing to face down krogan if need be (Lantar had dragged him away from that one); and he was easy to get along with. The last part was imperative. Garrus had worked alongside humans before and knew their quirks, but Lantar was much more uncomfortable. Butler's easygoing personality had helped smooth out several misunderstandings between them already.

They'd meet up every night and hit the streets. Garrus had picked up a set of armor and a gun for Butler, and the human wore them with ease. The human preferred punching things over using his pistol, but since Lantar hated hand-to-hand, this worked.

And just this morning, a news report had marveled at the drop in street crime on the station.

By all accounts, their vigilante life was going well.

So was their personal life.

They were much freer and easier with their emotions around each other now. Like the other night. Lantar and Garrus had been cuddling in bed, and Garrus mumbled something that Lantar didn't understand until his translator kicked in a second later. Lantar mentally shook himself when he realized that Garrus was from the homeworld; of course his first language was Palaven-Standard. Lantar spoke only Colonial-Standard, and he realized that this whole time, Garrus had been speaking a second language for his benefit.

Each moment like that, he only fell more in love with Garrus.

In the morning, Lantar had tried a few halting sentences of Palaven-Standard, and Garrus smiled in delight, then launched into tricky wordplay using both languages. He spoke so quickly around conflicting vowels that Lantar was nearly rolling on the floor in laughter.

Moments like that.

This was not one of them. Butler was chewing on a straw, draining the last drops of his drink. The rattling noise made Lantar twitch. He was quickly beginning to loathe the _sounds_ that humans made with their mouths. Garrus didn't seem to mind it, and Lantar began contemplating how bad it would be to be on a ship full of humans and listen to these things _all the time._

Lantar had never been so glad to finish lunch.

"So, tomorrow then?" Garrus asked.

Butler stood and stretched. "My wife's missing our evenings together. She works a long shift."

"Can't keep you from your wife," Garrus said. "We can take a few days."

"Sure. Call you?"

"Yep." They parted ways, Lantar still grousing about the check but relieved that the human mouth noises had stopped and that he wouldn't actually have to punch Butler.

Garrus gave him a sideways glance on the way back to the apartment. "You ok?"

Lantar twitched a mandible. And kept twitching it, trying to keep his breathing in check. "I'm fine," he said. Shit, why was he feeling this way? There was no reason he should be this unhappy. He was in love, he was realizing that he could be braver than he'd ever thought, and he was making a difference.

But he still felt like crap. He recognized this feeling from past years, but he'd thought it would go away if only he could find something to be happy about.

The fact that it hadn't annoyed him more than he was willing to admit.

And he really felt like shit making Garrus put up with his bad moods. That wasn't fair at all. But it was hard to pretend. Garrus had obviously noticed something was off the past few days. Lantar wondered if that was Garrus's real motivation for giving them a few nights off, and not the concerns of Butler's wife.

When they got back to the shitty apartment, Garrus turned. "You're not fine," he said. "Is there anything I can do?"

Lantar slumped over in defeat, leaning against the doorway. "It'll go away in a while," he muttered. "It always does."

Garrus touched his cheek. "Say the word," he murmured. "Whatever you need."

Lantar let himself relax under Garrus's touch. "Mostly a nap," he said. Sleeping it away usually worked.

"Ok," Garrus said. "I won't bother you."

Lantar woke up a few hours later to the smell of something burning. His eyes flew open, remembering the warehouse fire, only to find that Garrus was standing over the stove and looking panicked at whatever was on the burner. Lantar shot out of bed and turned the stove off. "Garrus, what the fuck—"

Half the fresh food he'd bought was sitting in a blackened lump in the pan.

Garrus sighed and poked the mess with a fork. "This is why I buy takeaway," he said.

"What the hell were you thinking? We can't afford to waste food like this." Lantar rounded on him. "You do this all the time! Expensive lunch, expensive guns, and now I've got to throw all this away! I don't know where your money comes from, I really don't, but this is way beyond my ability to pay for."

"There's takeaway—" Garrus protested.

"Takeaway is expensive!" Lantar snatched the fork and poked him in the chest with it. "Spirits, Garrus, maybe try doing the math! I managed to feed myself for six years on a pittance of a salary, and here you are just throwing credits to the wind! Maybe you have a secret day job that I haven't noticed, but if you don't, there's no way we can keep going like this." He tipped the contents of the pan into the garbage and slammed it into the sink, the fork bouncing off the counter and falling to the floor. He bent down to grab it, furious that he couldn't even put a fucking fork into the fucking sink.

Garrus just stood there, staring down at the stove. "I withdrew everything when I left," he said quietly. "I've got enough for a year, I think." He looked up. "You'd be amazed, but saving the Citadel from a Reaper doesn't actually come with any monetary bonuses."

Lantar hunched over the sink, scrubbing out the pan. "Must be nice not having to worry about that shit."

"I'm sorry," Garrus said.

Lantar sighed and put the pan down. "You'll be sorrier when that year is up," he muttered, all the anger gone from his voice.

"I cleaned out that slave dealer's accounts," Garrus said. "If we keep going like that—"

"Living off the money bloodied by the crimes we're trying to stop?"

"I mean, this Archangel business kind of _is_ our day job."

He washed out the pan, then turned around. "That doesn't seem right."

"What would you have me do? I—you're right. I wasn't thinking." Garrus snagged a towel from the counter and walked over, picking up the pan and drying it off. "We'll put our heads together and come up with some ideas, ok? It'll work out."

"Yeah. Ok." He suddenly felt overwhelmingly dizzy, stumbling back to sit on the bed.

"What's wrong?" Garrus sat next to him.

Lantar buried his head in his hands. "I don't know. This just…happens sometimes. Like I can't be properly happy about anything."

"Depression?" Garrus asked.

"Maybe." Lantar looked up and stared him in the eye, needing both reassurance and to reassure. "It's not so bad. I haven't thought seriously about killing myself in a few years."

Garrus's eyes went wide, and he hugged Lantar.

"It's ok," Lantar said. "Really."

Garrus didn't let go. "Let's have a quiet night tonight," he murmured. Then he grinned, his mandibles pressing into Lantar's shoulder. "Movie night?"

Lantar let out a little huff of laughter. "Sure."

Garrus still didn't let go, but brought up his omnitool behind Lantar's back and turned on the vid screen.

Lantar didn't pay attention to the movie, instead focusing on the feeling of Garrus snuggled up to him. It had been so long since he felt this safe and comfortable. "I'm sorry for yelling," he said.

Garrus nuzzled his neck. "I deserved it. Never let me cook again."

"You're just trying to guilt me into doing all the housework."

"Am not."

"Yeah, yeah."

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he woke up in the middle of the night and Garrus was curled around him.

 

Garrus went outside to take a call.

Lantar continued fussing over the houseplant, carefully taking off any dead leaves. It was getting bigger, and had more flowers than ever. Even in the dim halflight of Omega, it flourished.

Garrus came back in. "Well, it was only a matter of time."

"For what?"

"Butler's wife disapproves." He said it with light humor, however, and twitched a mandible.

Lantar set the plant down next to the sink. "What's the problem?"

"She's afraid that someone's going to follow Butler home. Not a bad thought, really. But we have…precautions against that sort of thing—"

Lantar glanced up at the wiring around the doorframe.

"—and they don't."

Lantar shrugged, and filled a glass of water from the sink. "She's not wrong."

Garrus grinned. "Butler has an idea."

"Uh oh." He dumped the water into the plant.

"No, listen. This is smart. I got the idea from you, Lantar—building a squad, being able to make some _real_ change around here—but if we build a squad, we'll need somewhere to put them and to train.

"We need a base."

 

"We're going to need space to house people—I'm going to estimate ten, just for now."

Lantar typed that into the list. The wishlist for a base was getting longer and longer. Chief requirements were a building that could be secured, one where the comings and goings of multiple people wouldn't attract attention, and a price that was decent.

Things that would be nice to have: adequate living space, parking for a skycar, and a centralized location.

Pie in the sky: a hot tub (Garrus seriously hoped that Lantar had been joking when he added that).

Lantar turned his wrist so that Garrus could review the list one more time. Garrus stared at the omnitool's display, his heart sinking. "We're never going to find a base," he said. "Not at this rate. I don't know anywhere on Omega where we could safely house a vigilante squad and not get noticed or killed."

Lantar was silent for a few moments. "You're wrong about that," he finally said.

"Really?"

"Space for housing? Good secure location? And would we need to worry about neighbors if we didn't have any?" He switched the omnitool off.

"It'd cost a fortune."

"No. I'm talking about Kima."

The name didn't ring any bells in Garrus's head. "Where?"

"Kima district. Old mining district; the eezo ran out there a few years back and it's been abandoned ever since. Even the scavengers have picked over it, but it used to be a bustling area. Lot of hotels and boarding houses for the mine workers. I don't think anyone would particularly notice or care if we set up shop."

"Show me."

 

Abandoned was the way to put it, Garrus thought. Kima district was only a few levels above Afterlife, but for all the activity, it might've been the remotest area on Omega.

The buildings were cramped together; small apartments were built into the structure wherever they could fit. The boulevard opened up at the end to reveal a number of buildings perched precariously out off the level.

The largest of those buildings was a squat affair. For a building on Omega, it had a surprising number of windows, which were all shuttered over. A "welcome" sign flickered off to one side.

The building appeared to be accessible only by bridge, with a wide balcony overlooking it. His brain immediately grasped the defensive capabilities.

He pointed. "That one."

"That one?" Lantar asked.

"It's perfect." Garrus grinned. He broke into a trot, ignoring the rest of his surroundings, running down the boulevard to his prize. He could hear Lantar following him.

The entrance to the building was shuttered as well. There was some scrawling on the steel door. Garrus had to activate the translation program in his visor; it wasn't in any language that he had set to automatically decipher. His software identified it as a dialect spoken by most Terminus batarians: "Building for sale priced to sell". Beneath the note was a number.

He dialed the number, and waited.

"You sure about this?" Lantar murmured.

The call was picked up. "Yeah?" a scratchy voice said.

"I was calling about buying that building in Kima district. How much are you asking?"

A pause. "Wait…really? Someone actually wants that place?"

"Yeah, I do. What's your price?"

"Is this a scam or something?"

Garrus saw Lantar roll his eyes. "No, it's not. I'm genuinely interested."

Another pause. "Without even seeing the place?"

"Well, that would be ideal," Garrus said. "Would you be able to show us around?"

The sound fuzzed. "Yeah. Give me a half hour to get down there. I'm armed, just in case this is cover for any sort've funny business."

"It's not. You're looking for two turians."

"Excellent," the voice muttered. And the line went dead.

He showed up right on time, an old batarian carrying a huge gun. His eyes narrowed when he saw Garrus and Lantar, but walked up to them.

"You were the ones who called?"

"Is that a _Blackstorm?_ " Garrus interrupted, staring at the gun in awe. "I've never even _seen_ one."

"Can't be too careful," the old man muttered, slinging the gun over his shoulder. "I'm still convinced this isn't some sort of scam. I've been trying to sell this place ever since the district went dark. You two are the first ones to bite."

"What was it used for?" Lantar asked.

"I ran a boarding house," the batarian said. "More miners than you could swing a varren at. And then the eezo ran out. Just like that, the district was gone and my property was worthless." He pulled up his omnitool and keyed in a sequence. The shutters all retracted from the doors and windows.

"So you want the grand tour?" he asked. "It's a bit big for a young couple starting out, but it's comfy enough."

Lantar muffled a sort of squeak. It was endearing, Garrus thought. They might be a young couple (the idea of which still sent sparks jumping in his brain), but they certainly were intending a higher purpose for that building.

The main room was huge. The old batarian pointed out the amenities; full kitchen, garage on the lower level, lots of sitting space, and individual rooms as well as bunks in one of the common areas. The building could easily house thirty people.

"Everything's still here," the batarian said, pulling open closet doors. "I clamped this place down tight so that scavengers couldn't get in." He pointed to a stack of towels and linens. "All furniture and stuff included in the price. Hell, you two could set up another boarding house without any additional investment."

"Utilities?"

"Still connected to the district heating. Power and water are available, just gotta turn them back on. So," he said, shutting the closet and turning to face them. "Still interested?"

"Absolutely. Name your price."

Lantar's eyes widened when the man rattled off the numbers. "Why are you selling so cheap?" he asked. "Are we the ones being scammed?"

"Nah." The batarian stared out the window for a moment. "I just want this off my hands. Go. Do something with it. Hell, revive the district and all. I'll just be happy with a few credits."

"I appreciate it," Garrus said. He pulled up his omnitool. "I'll send you a written proof of sale."

"Fantastic. I'll forward you the key codes for the locks and shutters." The batarian stood at attention. Garrus held out a hand to shake, but the man ignored it and tipped his head slightly.

Lantar tipped his head in return. The man smiled, seemingly happy with the response, and didn't glance back as he walked away.

"Careful with your head movements around batarians," Lantar murmured. "It's easy to accidentally offend."

"Thanks," Garrus said. He looked up and around at the greatroom. "This is _perfect_ ," he repeated. "I can't believe we got this lucky."

Lantar plopped down on an adjacent couch. "Much bigger than that apartment, that's for sure."

Garrus grinned. "Did you see the big bedroom back there? That'll be ours. Hey, it's still early. Let's get some food, and invite Butler and his wife for dinner. Have a real house-warming. Or secret base-warming, in this case."

Lantar tilted his head back. "Do you want to keep the apartment too or no? Because we should start moving stuff."

"I'll keep paying the rent," Garrus said. "It's always good to have a backup." For a moment he just stood and watched Lantar, slumped on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The electricity wasn't on yet, and the only light was from Omega's omnipresent red glow. The red washed Lantar's plates out to a muddied grey, but it also cast flattering shadows, sculpting his body and face. Garrus shivered. This man—who even though he cultivated a hard shell, could show such amazing kindness and love—this man was _his_. And it amazed him.

"Dinner," Garrus murmured. "And then we can break in that new bed afterwards."

Lantar looked at him, and a smile ghosted over his face. And that smile was all Garrus needed.


	12. Chapter 12

"I don't understand," Garrus said. "She was really dead?"

Dr Chakwas's smile vanished. "I'm afraid so," she said. "Cerberus got her body somehow, and revived her. I came onboard to look after her."

Garrus leaned his head into his hands, flinching slightly as he felt the scrape of the heavy bandage. "And why Cerberus? Last I checked, they were more interested in killing people than bringing back the dead."

"They've got the Commander on a leash," the doctor said. "After the fallout from the Reaper, I don't think the Council would touch her with a ten foot pole. The Alliance is more content looking the other way. Cerberus understands how she works, inside and out, and they know that she will not let this colony issue go. And they are the only ones who will back her."

"I don't like this," Garrus said.

"Neither do I. That's why I'm here. I trust the Commander to remain ethical. I do not trust Cerberus. Are you going to stay on?"

"Where else would I go?"

 

He didn't remember the nightmare, but jolted out of sleep all the same. He instinctively reached out for Lantar, only for his hand to fall flat on the cot.

His face hurt.

Garrus opened his eyes. The light was a dim red, he was asleep on a small cot, and the room hummed. Lantar wasn't there. It took him a few moments to remember where he was. Shepard was alive. He should be dead. Nearly had been. _Normandy_. And his team, and Lantar, were—

No.

He stumbled out of the cot, and held onto the railings in the room as he made his way over to the computer console. He blinked down at it. Guns. Battery. That was right. Chakwas told him he could sleep down here. Close enough for her to check on.

His face _really_ hurt. He reached up and poked it gingerly, only to have searing pain shoot through his cheek. He doubled over the console, wincing.

"You appear to be in distress. Shall I alert Dr Chakwas?"

Garrus jumped, slipped, banged his head on the console, and fell heavily on the floor. "Show yourself!" He reached for a gun, only to realize that it wasn't with him.

A little blue glow popped up on the console. "I apologize for the disturbance. Shall I alert Dr Chakwas?"

"No." Garrus groaned, rubbing his head. "I didn't know this ship had a VI."

"More accurately, I am an AI."

His eyes widened. "No way in hell Shepard would let an AI into her ship."

"Commander Shepard did object when she first met me. She has since revoked these objections."

"What?" He shook his head. "…Never mind."

"Logging you out."

He was stupid, he chided himself. Stupid to think that Shepard coming back would fix everything, that it would be just like the old days. Could be just like the old days.

Too much had happened in those two years.

* * *

  
_Our new address. Archangel's secret base. Kima District, Omega._ Lantar had taken a few trips to move all the food and Garrus's few cooking wares to the new kitchen. It was _spacious_. Butler and his wife had accepted the invitation for dinner, and Lantar was torn between being freaked at dealing with levo food, being freaked over having to meet another new human, and making sure that the kitchen was fucking _spotless_ beforehand.

Garrus was out shopping. The windows were open in an attempt to air the place out a bit. All the lights and appliances seemed to work. It was like the old residents hadn't been gone even a day.

It unnerved him, taking this next step. Not the base—although moving into a new home with his, what, boyfriend? was enough of a big thing—but building a foundation for Garrus's dream of having a squad. A squad of people that could take on the filth of Omega, and wash the place clean. Butler was only the first of what would be many, Lantar was sure of it.

A door slammed. Lantar looked up to see Garrus, loaded down with bags. Garrus's eyes went wide when he saw the handiwork laid out in the kitchen. "You already started moving stuff in?" he asked.

Lantar paused. "Yeah? We're hosting dinner, remember?"

Garrus turned away and opened a bag, pulling out a small metal bowl on a long chain. He opened another box. "We have to do the house-warming," he said, taking a small cone and inserting it into the bowl. "You know," he said, addressing the puzzled look on Lantar's face, "to clear out any lingering spirits. Only thing is, you gotta do it before the house is inhabited." He shrugged. "It should still work. Don't worry."

"Oh." Lantar looked down. "I've never heard of this before."

"It's a—"

"—Palaveni thing. I kind of gathered." Lantar set down the sponge he'd been cleaning with. "How do we start?"

Garrus picked up the incense burner. "We start with the threshold."

Outside, he lit the cone. The smoke spiraled up into Omega's dim light. "Over the threshold," Garrus murmured as he slowly walked through the door, the burner swinging slightly. Lantar followed, the smoke tickling his nose. The smell had must and spices, and he breathed deeply. Earth, and wood. "Then each room," Garrus said, "circling to the right." They made laps of the greatroom, and then up the stairs, around the balcony, back into the bedrooms.

The base smelled amazing when the cone finally burned itself out.

 

A few hours later, the smell of incense was replaced by the mingling smells of dextro and levo food on the stove. Butler's wife—Nalah—had offered to cook, but Butler insisted. "You sit down, you've had a long shift. I'll do it." He and Lantar had the kitchen, each being careful not to mix ingredients.

Butler made a face. "That stuff is strong," he said, picking up a jar of spice and squinting at the label. "What is it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lantar took the bottle back. "It's just a little bit of flavor."

At the table in the greatroom, Garrus burst into laughter. All heads turned to him. "Humans have a much better sense of smell and taste than turians," he explained, and snickered again. "All the humans at C-Sec would stay out of breakroom when we were eating."

"That would explain a lot about turian cuisine," Nalah commented. She'd been chatting with Garrus for a while, studiously ignoring Butler and Lantar snapping at each other.

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to get used to having my nostrils fried every time I eat with you guys," Butler said. He waved a hand in front of his face. "Might have to find some cayenne. That'd be good payback."

Lantar rolled his eyes. "Not like your stuff doesn't reek as well." He opened the jar and poured a little more into the pan, just to get under Butler's skin a bit.

"Nalah! Can you sneak some cayenne from the kitchen tomorrow?"

"Sure, if you want to poison your friends."

Nalah was a short-order cook at some human takeaway joint, Lantar had learned. The pay was decent, but she was on her feet for long hours. Butler had recently lost a job as a deliveryman, so she was supporting the both of them.

"I don't mind cooking outside of work—"

"I have no idea how you can even look at a frypan anymore," Butler replied. "At least you've become inured to the grease. I'm the one who has to smell it when you get home."

"So perhaps turian spice is a nice change of routine, huh?" Nalah said, and winked.

Butler did not crack another remark about turian food after that.

 

There must be something about living on Omega, Garrus mused. Something to toughen a person, and give them a core of steel—yet Nalah retained compassion, which seemed to be lacking in this place. Garrus was coming to understand Butler's admiration for her.

She ran a hand through her hair, styled in a way he'd never seen before, twisted into tiny braids and pulled into a knot. It was much more elaborate than the simple way that humans on the Citadel wore it.

She grinned. "I just wanted him to myself for a few nights. Got so used to him not working."

"I don't blame you in the least," Garrus said. "Hey, gave us time to whip up this whole secret base thing."

Nalah nodded. "I like it. I mean, I know he'll be at home less, but that's good, right? Keep him from leading anyone back to me—us?" She put a hand on her stomach. Garrus had seen pregnant humans before, but she wasn't showing yet.

"How long, until—?" He gestured.

"It's 12 weeks along," she said. "Humans go for 9 months."

Garrus frowned. "Nalah," he said gently, "I can't guarantee Butler's safety, you know that. If you don't want him doing this, just say the word. I don't want your child growing up without a father."

Nalah caught his eye and glared. "Garrus, listen to me. I fully support him in this. Omega is a shithole. And we don't have anywhere else to go. It's not going to change unless somebody does something about it, and you two and my husband are the only ones willing to try. He wants to make Omega a better place." Her voice softened. "For me. And for our baby. I know it could get him killed, but I'm not going to stop him."

"I—thank you. For trusting me."

She shrugged. "You've already saved one space station. I'd say you've got the background to save this one."

"Heh. Well. I did have help that first time around."

"And you've got help this time around."

"I do. And I think I've found some of the best."

 

Dinner was fine. Lantar tried to distract himself from the chewing sounds that Butler and Nalah made, but the conversation was lively enough to help. How did humans stand eating with each other, he wondered.

The conversation eventually turned to family. Lantar was surprised to learn that Garrus had a sister, but clamped his mandibles shut when they turned to him. "Nope," he said. "I am not going into all that."

"You weren't born on Omega, were you Butler?" Garrus asked, covering for him.

Butler stretched. "Nope. Colony kid. Decided that the backwaters of Alliance space was too boring, and signed on with a merc company. I got to Omega and decided that merc work was too exciting. Just stayed here, in the end."

"What about you, Nalah?"

"Believe it or not," she said, "Omega used to be a pretty promising place for humans to find work."

Lantar nodded. "I remember those days. Huge human tenements here for a while. Took a while for you guys to stop holing up together."

She shrugged. "We were new to the galaxy. It took a while on both sides, for us to accept and y'all to accept us."

Garrus smiled. "You have more than earned your place here," he said. "If the humans I've worked with are any indication, there are great things ahead for your species."

As they cleaned up the dishes, Nalah grabbed Butler's arm and pulled him up against her. "One more night," she said. Butler swatted her arm lightly, but grinned all the same.

"Of course," said Garrus. He glanced at Lantar. "We have plans anyway."

"What do turians do in their spare time, play Parcheesi?" Butler asked.

"What's that?" Garrus said. "And no."

They showed the Butlers out, wishing them a good night and making plans to go hunting tomorrow.

"Parcheesi is a game," Lantar said as they locked the shutters for the night. "I think it's human, but other species have picked up on it a bit too."

"Oh." Garrus flicked off the lights in the greatroom. He paused a moment. "Butler's not trying to offend you," he said. "He's messing around. Don't take it personally."

"It's hard," Lantar said. "I can't tell what he's thinking. Human voices are so flat." That was true, at least, but he preferred to use that as an excuse rather than saying _I can't help it, everything gets under my skin and I only pretend it doesn't._

"That they are," Garrus said. "You get used to it after a while. Learn to read their faces. That's what they use instead of subvocals."

"Mmm." They went upstairs, pulling out sheets and towels for the large bedroom. There was a window that overlooked the greatroom, and Garrus pulled down the shutter on that as Lantar poked the bed. Satisfied that it was clean, he threw the sheets on, only to have Garrus pounce on him and start purring.

"I'm not sure an old bed needs much more breaking in," Lantar murmured. "But if you're that determined..."

Garrus pressed a mandible into his neck. "It's good luck to fuck the first night in a new house. And it's been a while."

Come to think of it, this would be the first time they'd slept together since that whole awkward confession of love. Which Lantar was still cursing himself for, but it had turned out ok. Better than ok. He fell to the side, dragging Garrus down on the bed with him, then wiggled out of Garrus's grip and pinned him down.

"Mmf." Garrus grinned and bounced a little. "Nice mattress. Springy."

"Good. Anything's better than that cot in the apartment. Let's take advantage of it." He let Garrus up.

"No rush," Garrus murmured. They quickly stripped, tossing clothing off to the side. No sooner had Lantar got his shirt off then Garrus, moving in a blur, had him pinned down instead. "I've got an idea," Garrus purred.

Slight panic surged in Lantar's chest. "Garrus, I hate bottoming—"

"I had a feeling." Garrus gazed down at him, his pupils wide. He slowly ground against Lantar, who inhaled sharply and returned the motion. "No, I had something else in mind. Sit up."

They were wrapped up in each other's arms, Garrus perched in his lap, moving with a precise rhythm. Their foreheads touched briefly, staring into each other's eyes, then Lantar tipped his head, nosing his way down Garrus's face, brushing his mandibles, his neck—

This closeness. Lantar reveled in it, his every breath matched by Garrus, feeling his warmth against his skin.

They stayed tangled up even afterwards, just holding each other. "I like it when you purr," Garrus whispered.

"You should definitely make me purr more often," Lantar murmured back. He purred harder, just in case.

Garrus chuckled. "I'll make a note of that."

They eventually sprawled out, enjoying the space of the new bed. They lay there, and Lantar breathed in. Up here, he could smell in the incense more clearly, and he took a deep breath. The words burn like fire on his tongue. "I love you."

 

"How far does this go?"

They were checking out the basement that afternoon. There was garage space that opened up into Omega's airspace, but there were other exits as well. Garrus had opened a door and found himself staring down a cramped tunnel.

"I don't know." Lantar's voice echoed in the space. "Nobody goes in these tunnels. They're all over Omega. You'd get lost and die before you ever found where you were going."

Garrus narrowed his eyes. "I don't like having that kind of weak spot. I'll have to do something about it."

"Don't we have bigger priorities?"

"Yeah. I want a less conspicuous way of coming and going. We'll have to get a skycar. Easier to disguise a bunch of armed people that way."

"Can we afford that?"

"The kind of skycar I'm thinking, we'll be able to afford it."

 

A few days later, they found a small garage and dealership. A bunch of cars sat out front for sale. Crates were stacked up everywhere, overflowing with rusty parts.

Inside, Garrus tensed. Two men in Blue Suns armor were standing next to a skycar, and talking with a female turian. He checked his hip to make sure his pistol was still there. Garrus hadn't personally tangled with Blue Suns before, but they had a reputation for trouble, and Omega was one of their main strongholds.

He and Lantar sat in a pair of broken-down chairs at the desk. Lantar buried his nose in a flyer with car prices, and Garrus pretended to stare at a poster behind the desk, while listening in on the Suns' conversation.

"…95 thou kilometers on it, still in fine shape. The model's a 2168. Should serve you well for years to come," the turian said.

"Legally sourced?" one of the Suns asked.

"Of course. Everything we do here is aboveboard." There was a note of anger in her voice that Garrus doubted the human and batarian would be able to hear.

"How soon can you sell it?"

"As soon as you transfer the credits. Shall I draw up a contract?"

"No need," the batarian said. "Here."

Some shuffling. "I'll need to check the credit chit."

Footsteps approached the desk. Garrus finally turned around. The turian slid behind the desk. She was older, with light tan plates and bold red markings on her face. "Can I help you two?" she asked.

"Yeah. We were interested in buying a used vehicle?"

She nodded. "You'll have to come back tomorrow. I'm gonna be tied up with paperwork for a few hours."

"Right," Garrus said. "Thank you." He didn't catch the eyes of the mercs on his way out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or it's a heavy-handed metaphor for their folly.
> 
> A note on electrical safety: Never ever daisy-chain things together unless the manufacturer specifically says you can. I see people do this all the time with extension cords and power strips (don't plug extension cords together, never plug a power strip into another power strip). Doing this can cause fires.

She hadn't seen Garrus since that moment when he'd emerged from medbay and they'd cracked awkward jokes about his new scars. It was good to see him on his feet, but Shepard suspected that he was putting on a cheerful façade, probably for her benefit.

It was late at night and she'd finally scrubbed all the vorcha blood off her armor. Shepard never wanted to end up in a situation like that again. She shuddered. Purposefully distributing a plague so that the wretched creatures could feed off the remains…she had her prize though. A salarian doctor who was definitely shaping up to be the most eccentric person she'd ever met. And considering the people she'd met…well. Mordin would be an asset, she told herself. Shepard had a feeling that all she would have to do was point him in the right direction, and let him go.

By all rights, she should be checking in with Miranda to go over the day's reports, but the thought made her cringe. She'd check on Garrus instead, have a natter, and pretend that she'd lost track of time.

He was nose deep in the weapons programming. "Shepard," he said, not turning around. "Need me for something?"

"Have you got a moment?"

"Sure." He finally turned around, and Shepard tried not to wince at the sight of his face. Meat and tubes, as Miranda had described her own surgeries. But the sight of his face was nothing at the relief that he was ok. "Thought I'd seen every weapon when we were fighting Saren. But this…we should've joined up with Cerberus sooner."

"They're funding us. Nothing more." Shepard instantly regretted her snappish tone.

"Figure of speech." He waved it off and Shepard breathed a sigh of relief. "Shepard, under the circumstances, this was the best decision you could make. I can't doubt your judgement. It would be—well, not after I got everyone killed."

"Garrus—" Shepard reached out to touch his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

"I owe you the story," he said. "Why don't you sit."

She took a seat on one of the crates off to the side, and watched him pace for a few moments.

"I left C-Sec," he said eventually. "Omega…there was nothing to get in the way. No red tape. Just thugs who needed kicking. I formed my team to kick back. Like you. You prove you get things done, and people join up. I gave people _hope_." He paused, stopped pacing, and turned away. "And now they're dead. Shows how much I know."

"Tell me about them."

"There were twelve of us. We were…like a family."

And then it hit her. Two _years_ had gone by, two years that everyone else had lived through day by day. And the people she thought she knew, she had to get to know all over again. She couldn't process it. Wasn't sure she could understand it. That she'd been gone for two years, and people had moved on.

It hurt more than she thought it would.

"Garrus," she asked. "What happened?"

He looked down, shaking his head, mandibles fluttering. "It was my own damn fault." His voice was suddenly clipped and harsh. "One of my people betrayed me. A turian. Lantar Sidonis. He drew me away just before the attack. But he'd vanished. And by the time I got back, everyone was gone. They're all dead. Because of _him_. And I didn't see it coming."

The _venom_ in his voice scared her. Shepard had never seen him this way, even with Saleon. "Are you sure it was a betrayal?" she asked, wanting it to be false. "Maybe he was a casualty."

"No," he snapped. "I put out feelers. Just before the attack, he cleared out his accounts and booked passage off Omega. He sold me out, Shepard, and he ran. His trail vanishes after that."

He straightened up and looked her dead in the eye. "I'll keep hunting. I lost everyone except for him. When I find him, I'm going to correct that."

Shepard stood, and reached out to him again. And again, he dodged her touch. "Thanks for coming by. I've got some things to take care of."

The sudden dismissal took her by surprise. And she found herself outside the gunnery doors, once again contemplating how long two years was.  


* * *

  
"Overhead."

Lantar ducked as Garrus passed a cable over his head. He looked up. Garrus was setting up some sort of security precautions. It looked like a mess of cable to him, but Garrus seemed pleased with how it was coming. "What the hell is that?" Lantar asked as Garrus mounted a small device in one corner of the greatroom.

"Turret," Garrus said happily. "Once I get this rigged up, we'll be able to clear this room of any hostiles without getting our hands dirty."

"How many are you installing?" Lantar asked. There was a mess of cable sitting in a box, along with more of the turrets just waiting to go up. Garrus had been busy in the marketplace. Lantar didn't want to know how much all this had cost.

"At least eight," Garrus said. "I could probably get away with daisy chaining a few more on this circuit, but I don't want to take chances. I'm not clear on how much power I can safely draw. Watch it!"

Lantar quickly snatched the potted plant out of harm's way as a cable detached and fell onto the kitchen counter. "Daisy chain?" he asked, cradling the plant.

"It's a human phrase," Garrus explained. He climbed down from the chair to retrieve the fallen cable. "I think it has to do with flowers that you can string together, actually, but engineers use it to refer to a bunch of devices on one circuit."

"Huh." Lantar made a mental note to look up "daisy" later and to find out if you could get them in pots. His plant was looking small and lonely in the space of the new building. It needed a friend. Or two.

He plopped down on the couch in the center of the room, well away from Garrus and his cabling. There was an old vid screen hooked up to the wall. Lantar quickly found a remote, and tried switching it on. It worked, although the picture was a little fuzzy. He switched it to the Omega news station, and the news story on nearly made him drop the plant.

"Garrus, get over here!"

"What is it?"

"…crash near Afterlife stalled traffic for two hours yesterday evening. The victims were identified as employees of the Blue Suns organization."

"Are those the two we saw at the garage yesterday?" Garrus asked, pointing to the photos on the screen.

"Yup," Lantar said grimly.

"An investigation by the Blue Suns found that the skycar they were driving had a blockage in the engine, causing it to stall out in midair."

"You sure we should go back to that garage?" Lantar asked, turning to Garrus. "Doesn't sound like they're that great at what they do."

Garrus tipped his head back and forth. Lantar could practically see him thinking.

"I want to," he said eventually. "I have a feeling that there's more to this than there seems."

 

The female turian was sitting behind the desk when they walked in. She immediately looked up. "Sorry about yesterday," she said. "You said you were looking to buy?"

"Yeah," Garrus said. "We're kind of on a tight budget. I don't need anything fancy, just something that can get the job done."

Ten minutes later, he was staring at an ancient skycar.

"It's a 2143," the woman said. "I've had it sitting around forever, getting it up to working condition. It'll do the job, but might need some upkeep."

Garrus nodded. That was something he could deal with. On the other hand… "You sure it's in working condition?" he asked, throwing caution to the wind. "I saw the news today. Those Blue Suns? You sold them a lemon. I don't want to get caught with the same problem."

She started, a mandible twitching, and looked around quickly. "Why don't we speak in my office," she said.

Garrus glanced at Lantar, whose hand was already drifting towards his pistol.

She dragged a chair from the main room into the cramped office. "Have a seat," she said. They sat.

"You have nothing to worry about from me," she said, an intense look on her face. "That's my Blue Suns special. Yes, the boss knows about it. No, he doesn't care. I would _never_ do that to an honest customer."

Garrus's eyes widened. "You sure you want to be telling this to anyone who asks?"

"Don't make me laugh. There's no way you two are Suns." Her tone was acerbic. "So. You guys wanna see the damn car or not? I'll even let you test drive. Just so you know I'm telling the truth."

The engine on the old thing grumbled a bit. It handled a bit roughly, but was nothing compared to the Mako. Lantar sat in the backseat, the woman up front ("So you don't run off with it," she'd explained). Garrus kept a light touch on the controls, swooping in and out of Omega traffic.

"What's your grudge against the Suns?" Garrus asked.

She slumped back in her seat, her grey eyes resolutely facing forward. "I had a family once," she said eventually. "I don't anymore. But what really pisses me off is that I can't fight back. Sure, I can irritate them in my own small way, but it will never be enough. Not after what they took from me."

Garrus put on his signal, then dove down, testing the acceleration. His stomach swooped, and he pulled out of the dive into a quieter area. Less traffic. Time to really see the speed on this thing.

"You drive like a fucking maniac," the woman said. She didn't sound very angry about it. More admiring than anything.

"Just putting it through its paces," Garrus said mildly.

"Garrus." Lantar's voice was strained. "Please don't kill us."

"I'm not going to. You ok?" He glanced back. Lantar was bowed forward, clutching at the headrest of the seat in front of him. That was enough to convince Garrus to pull up. Lantar sighed with relief.

"I'm sorry about your family," Garrus said.

She waved it off. "It's nice of you to care. Not many folks here do. Hell, I think everyone's lost something to the gangs. Kinda puts caring in short supply."

"You ever think about fighting back in a more direct way?" Lantar asked quietly.

She tipped her head. "I would. Wouldn't know how to do it. Not like some of the people around here. Archangel. That one's got the right idea." She sighed. "I just...I don't know how effective I could be on my own."

"Garrus." Lantar leaned forward. "Take the next right, and circle around the slum district. Should give us about ten minutes."

The woman whipped her head around. "Are you two gonna kill me for sympathizing with vigilantes? I'd like to see you try. There's fight in these old bones yet."

Garrus took the turn. "Not kill you," Lantar said. "Recruit you. Say hello to Archangel."

She paused a moment. Light flickered over her face as they drove. "Huh. I knew you two weren't mercs. But I wasn't sure what you actually were."

"So?" Garrus said. "You interested? If not, no worries. You get to sell the car and you never see us again. What's your name, by the way?"

"Melenis. Nice to meet you, Archangel." She turned. "Ah—which one of you is the Archangel?"

Garrus shrugged. "I guess we all are? We're not the only ones, either." He made another turn, passing under leaning tenements that looked ready to collapse at any moment.

"Ah what the hell," Melenis said. "People have raised enough glasses in your name. I've raised one or two myself."

"So, how soon can you meet us?"

"Fuck it," she said. "Right away. My boss can deal."

"Glad to have you on the team, Melenis," Garrus said. He put the car on autopilot, looked over, and shook her hand.

 

"I'm outnumbered!" Butler said the first time Melenis walked into the base.

"You've always been outnumbered, Butler," Garrus said, locking the garage door behind him. "Don't worry, I'll try to find more for team levo."

"It's not just the chirality—" Butler's protesting faded away eventually.

The four of them danced through Omega's shadows, weaving in and out of the labyrinthine structures. Enough with the street crime, Garrus declared. It's time to start hitting the ones who cause the hurt. He gave orders with a new confidence, and the others obeyed like water rushing around rocks. The first time they took down a Blue Suns cargo ship, Melenis screamed into the com, venting years of pent up rage.

During the days, Garrus alternated between drilling with firearms, finishing the security rig at the base, and scanning the airwaves, looking for new targets. The others quickly made the base into a home, decorating with what they could find with the credits they'd managed to pick up. Garrus considered putting a moratorium on potted plants, but he just couldn't bear to disrupt Lantar's newfound passion for flora.

Garrus also started teaching hand-to-hand to Lantar. Butler had been a boxer in his youth, Garrus learned, and Melenis had kept up her military skills; neither of them needed it. Lantar, on the other hand, was timid when it came to dealing with enemies at close range.

They'd clear out the furniture in the second level common room late at night, and Garrus would walk Lantar through the technique. He had to be patient; if he went too fast, Lantar would shut down and leave himself to Garrus's mercy. Garrus learned this the first time he'd thrown Lantar to the floor; Lantar had just curled up and refused to move. Garrus didn't make Lantar practice in real time again until he'd drilled a few evasion moves into Lantar's brain.

They moved slowly, working through the choreography Garrus put together, Garrus explaining things as they went. On occasion, he'd position himself behind Lantar and take his hands, walking him through a motion. It was these moments that he liked the most; Lantar would surrender himself to Garrus's guidance and they'd move together, as fluid as air. All his work eventually paid off when Lantar managed to throw him for the first time. He'd looked stunned at first, but his face relaxed when Garrus cheered. Then he got up and they began again, and again, until Garrus was satisfied that Lantar would be able to hold his own in most situations.

They curled up on the couch after one of these sessions. Butler and Melenis had long since retired for the evening. "You think we can give it a rest?" Lantar asked. "I hate doing this."

"You've gotten a lot better."

"Still hate it."

"We don't have to do it every night anymore," Garrus said. "Still won't hurt to keep working on it every once in a while." _I never again want to see you in a situation where I can't get to you and you're on your own,_ he thought. _But if that does happen, I think you can deal with it._

Lantar was quiet for a moment. "Garrus. We need more people. If we're doing this right, there's no reason to end up in hand-to-hand at all."

"I know." Garrus twitched a mandible. "I'm not sure how to find more people without putting us in danger. With Shepard, I guess people kind of came to her, but with us…" He trailed off.

"We have to go out and find them," Lantar said. "From what Butler and Mel said, it sounds like there're enough people who agree with what we're doing. We just have to get to them."

"I guess…" Garrus racked his brain. He'd poked his nose into Shepard's business and convinced her to drag him along. Wrex had been an ally of convenience, in the right place at the right time. Tali had been in the wrong place at the wrong time—but it turned out to be right, after all.

"I guess we could put out feelers," he said eventually. "Nose to the ground, that sort of thing. See if we can dig up likely people. That's what Shepard did."

Lantar nodded. "Sounds good." He hesitated for a while, his mandibles flickering in a way that made Garrus nervous.

"What?"

Lantar looked away.

"Spit it out."

"I—" The words came out in a rush. "Were you in love with Shepard?"

Garrus sat back, stunned. This wasn't what he expected. "Of course I was," he said. "We all were. We would have followed her to Hell and back."

"That's not what I meant." Lantar turned back and stared at him.

"Yeah, I know." Garrus put his head in his hands. He'd tried so hard to put things behind him, to somehow accept Shepard's death. Mostly, he realized, he'd tried to forget about it. "She was—I guess she was my ticket to a better life, in a way? I hated C-Sec, even before I met her, and all of a sudden she comes along, first human Spectre, on an important mission that just happened to coincide with my investigation. I wanted her to take me along so badly. Not love—I mean, not like this, not like you and I—just—I looked up to her. I had dreams of trying again to get into the Spectres, and having her mentor me, and we could just sail off and fight crime and I wouldn't have to deal with C-Sec or my father anymore—"

He looked up. Lantar was smiling. "What?"

"You still sailed off to fight crime," Lantar said. He wrapped an arm around Garrus's shoulders.

"Yeah." Garrus breathed out. A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him. "Spirits—if Shepard hadn't died, we wouldn't've met."

The smile vanished from Lantar's face. "You don't believe in fate or anything, do you?" he asked. "I mean—that was just bad luck."

"I…don't know." He stared at his hands. "There's still the question of the Reapers. And I don't know what to do about that. Fighting crime is the only thing I'm good for. Everything else is just too complicated."

Lantar swallowed. "You believe that then? About these Reapers wanting to wipe everything out?"

"We spoke to it," Garrus said. He still shuddered to recall Sovereign's sepulchral tones. "It said as much."

"Well," Lantar said.

"Yeah."

"I can see why you don't want to think about that."

"Yeah." Garrus reached out to him and pulled him in close. "When we're done with Omega," he whispered, "we'll go get those Reaper bastards."

"Ok." Lantar's voice was a quiet hum. Garrus could tell that he was humoring him.


	14. Chapter 14

They were on shore leave at the Citadel. While Shepard presumably argued with the Council, Garrus elected to stay hidden in the battery. He didn't want to run into any old colleagues from C-Sec.

A loud whoop from the crew deck interrupted his algorithms, and he gave it up in disgust. Poking his head out of the battery door, he saw Jack and Grunt in the mess, with several cases of beer on the table. Grunt noticed him, and waved him over. "We're gonna get drunk and Cerberus isn't allowed to join."

"Even picked up a case for your spiky ass," Jack added. "Well?"

"I—" He hesitated. He hadn't had a drink in—well—

Fuck it. Sidonis was no longer around to police him. It'd be a nice distraction from algorithms and Cerberus and thoughts of revenge. He would have a drink or two. And he'd have another one after he'd put a bullet into Sidonis. "Yeah," he said. "Nice that you guys thought of me."

 

Shepard returned to the ship with a headache and a constant mental scolding going in her brain. She shouldn't've lost her temper. That was that. A pitiful end to her Spectre career. And she'd lost any hope of being able to break away from Cerberus.

"Uh, Commander?" Joker interrupted her musings as she entered the airlock. "They need a hand down in the mess."

"Who's they and what kind of hand?" She really did not want to have to deal with her crew at the moment.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Go see for yourself. I've been getting a blow-by-blow from EDI, and let's just say—"

"Never mind." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'll take care of it." Whatever it was.

"It" turned out to be an extremely drunk Garrus. Jack had him backed up against the wall in a stasis field, and Grunt was hurriedly stuffing broken glass into the recycler. "Jack, drop him," Shepard ordered. Jack complied, and Garrus slid down the wall and crumpled into a heap, muttering under his breath. "Grunt, if this isn't cleaned up by the time I get back, you're confined to the ship for the next week. Jack, I don't want to know what happened, just get the beer out of my sight and off the ship, please."

They scurried to comply, both unusually quiet. Shepard knelt down by Garrus. "Can you walk, Vakarian?"

His eyes fluttered open and he squinted at her. "Who's askin'?"

"All right." She pulled his arm over her shoulder, wincing at the armor digging into her skin, and pulled him up. He was all dead weight, and Shepard had never before appreciated how much heavy armor could weigh.

"I don' want—"

"Come on," she said. "You need to get some sleep." She dragged him back to the battery, Garrus complaining the whole way. She dumped him on his cot. "Armor off."

"You tryin' to seduce me, Shepard?" Garrus slurred. "Well it inn't gonna work. Too—too drunk. Too—too—"

"Well if you want to fall asleep in full armor, that's your problem," she grumbled. God, he was obnoxious when drunk. "Come on. Help me out a little."

She finally got him out of most of the armor, electing to leave the boots on for convenience. He flopped over like a dead fish. "You gonna be ok on your own?" she asked.

He stared up at her, mandibles twitching in an odd rhythm. "No," he said eventually. "'M not ok. Shoulda listened when I had the chance. Lantar wanted an out, shoulda taken the out. This—fuckin'—shouldn'ta happened. Fuck the Collectors. Fuck 'em. Who cares about fuckin' Collectors." His head lolled back. "This inn't right. You're dead, aren't you? Jus' got used to you bein' dead and I shouldn' be here and I wanna be back with—"

Shepard could feel the blood pounding in her head, every heartbeat bringing a fresh surge of pain. "Fuck you very much," she said, and turned away. "EDI? Keep an eye on him."

"Yes, Commander."

The mess was empty when she left the battery. Once she was in the elevator, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her aching head against the cool metal wall, trying not to cry.

In the morning, Garrus avoided her eyes. "I apologize for last night, Commander," he said in clipped tones. "It was unprofessional and won't happen again."  


* * *

  
They went out one night for a small drug bust. The Talons were nobodies in the hierarchy of Omega, but lately they'd been running much more product than usual. Time to put an end to this.

They staked out an abandoned warehouse down by the docks. Garrus whispered orders into the com and they spread out, picking vantage points and staying in the shadows. They waited as a few Talons arrived with a crate, and continued to wait as the buyers showed.

The calm was shattered when Garrus gave the order: "Fire."

The crossfire caught the drug dealers by surprise. They quickly scrambled to try and figure out where the bullets were coming from, but the few shots they managed to take never hit a mark. Within minutes, they were down.

Garrus ordered a hold and they waited a few minutes more, making sure that no one else entered the area. Everything was silent. He gave the all clear.

Melenis started going through the corpses and pulling weapons, supplies, and credit chits. Butler poked his head out from behind a shipping container and made his way over to the Talons' crate. He pried off the lid and gave a low whistle. "Mostly stims. But here, look at this." He pushed a few packages aside. "This is Minagen, I'd stake my life on it."

"Shit. We'll have to detonate it from a good distance," Garrus said. "I don't want anyone getting a lungful of that. Lantar, Mel, go keep a lookout."

"Right." They exited the warehouse.

Butler looked on in fascination as Garrus knelt down next to the crate and quickly pulled up one of his omnitool programs. "What are you going to do?"

"Just going to rig the circuits to overheat. Should cause a nice little explosion."

Butler smacked a fist into his palm. "Explosions. Awesome."

Garrus eventually stepped back. "All right. Let's blow this up."

They waited outside the warehouse and Garrus activated the program. A loud thump was heard inside.

"Good work guys," Garrus said. "Let's call it a night."

 

His omnitool beeped when they were back at the base. He pulled up the message, the contents of which stopped him dead in his tracks.

_Archangel_

_You're good, but your communications aren't half as secure as you think they are. Something to work on. I'd rather not see you get taken down because of something so stupid._

There was no data attached to indicate who had sent it. Garrus doubted he'd be able to trace the origin.

"Something wrong?" Lantar peered over his shoulder.

"Upstairs," Garrus said, and dragged Lantar to their room. Once the door was shut, he showed Lantar the message. "Someone got into our com systems."

Lantar's eyes flicked back and forth as he read. He finally looked up. "You're worried?"

"I put the very best encryption I know on those lines. We don't know who this person is, or what they'll do with that information."

"Garrus." Lantar took his hand. "If they wanted to hurt us, I don't think they would've sent a message. This might be an opportunity."

Garrus laughed harshly. "As I recall, last time you were the one panicking over the unknown factor getting up in our business."

"And it turned out ok, didn't it? Butler's a pain in the ass but he's fine. Can you somehow reply? Ask them to meet?"

"I can try. No way of knowing how they got this through anonymously."

In the end, Garrus typed a short reply.

_I'm good, but it sounds like you're better. Would you be interested in applying your skills to our mission?_

 

The reply did go through. It was quickly arranged. They would meet in a seedy bar near the slums.

Garrus had them scout out the location well in advance. The place was dingy, the bartender was amicable, and the clientele was more civilian than merc. It seemed perfectly safe.

In the end, it was decided that Lantar would be the one to actually meet this person. He refused to let Garrus set foot in a bar, and so the job fell to him. Mel and Butler would keep an eye on him inside the bar, and Garrus would be on lookout outside.

Old volus jazz was playing softly. Lantar took a seat at the end of the bar and took a look around. Butler was sitting at a booth, looking bored and eating peanuts, and Melenis had found someone to challenge at pool. The conversation in the place was quiet, punctuated only by the clack of pool balls. Lantar ordered a soda, and stirred the slice of fruit in the drink around.

He quickly peeked at his omnitool. Ten minutes after the arranged meeting time. The person should've been here by now. Where were they?

He glanced around again. By all accounts, it just looked like any ordinary bar scene. No one was acting suspicious.

His omnitool beeped. He quickly flicked open the message.

_The girl dressed in black at the bar. She looks lonely. You should buy her a drink._

There was no signature.

Lantar shut off the 'tool's interface and peered down the length of the bar. Only one person met that description. A small human woman, dressed in modest black clothing and wearing a pale pink headscarf. She was toying with a coaster, and didn't look like she'd just had an omnitool open. Nevertheless, Lantar drained his soda, and made his way over.

He slid into the seat next to her. She barely glanced his way. Fuck, he hoped she didn't expect suave. He wasn't in the mood to try and chat up someone who'd broken into their com lines.

"Can I get you something?" he asked.

She looked at him fully then. "I don't drink, actually," she said with a clipped accent. "Religious reasons."

He found himself smiling. "I don't either," he said. "My friend is newly sober, and I'm trying to support him in that."

"That's good of you," she said. "If you're still offering a drink, however, I would not say no to a tea."

He signaled the bartender, ordering the tea and another fruit soda for himself. When the beverages came, she blew on the tea to cool it down. "It's hard to get good tea out in Terminus," she said, "but I take what I can get."

Lantar nodded. They sat for a few moments, discreetly sizing the other up. Suddenly, the woman set the cup down and stood up. "Tea's rubbish," she said. "Shall we find someplace where we can talk a little more freely?"

Lantar threw a credit chit down on the bar, eyeing Mel and Butler as he followed the woman outside. He couldn't see Garrus but knew he was there somewhere, likely on a roof with a good view of the street. He caught sight of Melenis as she exited the bar behind him, only a glimpse as the woman grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into a public com booth. She slammed the door behind them.

Lantar stared down at her. There was barely any space in there; their bodies pressed together. "Sorry about the tea," he said, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

She shrugged. "Thanks for buying," she said. "I think I'll just have to resign myself to never having good tea again."

"What are we doing in here?" he asked.

"Soundproof," she said, knocking on the glass. "Aria monitors all the calls that go out of these booths, but not the booths themselves."

"Right," he said.

She grinned. "With any luck, people will just see us in here and figure it for a private snog."

"I'd rather know how you broke into our coms," Lantar said quickly.

"So to business then?" She held out a hand, as much as she could in the cramped space. "I'm a former communications specialist for the Alliance. Independent now. Took a job here. Long story short, the encryptions made me curious. I haven't seen anything that professional outside of the big merc companies. Whoever your boss is, they're good."

Lantar sighed in relief, and shook her hand. "Good to know that we're not broadcasting to the whole world."

"Hardly. And yes, to answer the question you sent back to me, I'd be very interested in joining up with you lot." She shook his hand again. "Deenah Weaver."

"Lantar Sidonis. Can we get out of here now? This booth is rather stuffy and I think my boss is probably worried, not being able to see what's going on."

She paused a moment, then laughed. "Had sights on me the whole time?" They stepped out of the booth. Lantar waved, and a moment later, saw Garrus pop up from the roof of a nearby building, sniper rifle in hand. "I'm impressed," Weaver said. "Nice precautions."

"In this line of work, it pays to be paranoid," Lantar said as Butler and Melenis jogged up to them. "Another one for team levo!" he called to Butler, who grinned. "Welcome to the team, Weaver."

 

Weaver carried a rug with her when she moved into the base. Lantar thought it was decorative, but she simply placed it in a corner, still rolled up.

"It's for prayer," she explained. And indeed, after dinner, she took the rug and went off to the room she had claimed for herself. Lantar could hear her speaking through the wall, but he tuned it out, not wanting to unconsciously intrude.

He also heard a loud bang from Melenis's room. He stopped, alarmed. It came again. He knocked on the door. "Mel? You ok?"

After a moment of silence, the door opened. Melenis stood there, cradling a bleeding fist.

"Spirits, Mel." Lantar's eyes widened. "You should get that cleaned up, I'll go get a towel—"

"Don't worry about it—"

"—I was just heading to the shower anyway, it can wait—" He sprinted down the hall, grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, and came back. Mel was still standing in the doorway, looking annoyed. She snatched the washcloth from his hand. "Are you ok?" he asked again. There was blue blood on the wall behind her. Spirits. She'd been punching the steel wall.

"I'm fine," she muttered, wiping off her hands. "Fuck, that stings." She handed him back the washcloth. "Hey. Thanks."

"Yeah." He looked down. "If you ever want to talk about things…well, it helps sometimes."

"Not tonight," she said softly. Lantar looked up, and she was smiling. "You're a good kid," she said. "You and the boss. Remind me of my own son. Except you guys are far less stupid."

"Is that what this is about?" he asked.

She nodded. "He got tangled up with the Suns…tried to back out of a deal. They beat him badly. My mate went after the ones who'd done it, and he ended up dying as well."

"I'm sorry."

"He was a quiet kid. Not made for life on Omega." She looked away. "Nothing like having to pay protection to those bastards to stab you in the gut every day. I mean, even with Archangel…killing them isn't enough. I don't know what will be enough."

"I don't know either." He reached out, hesitant. She looked down for a moment, and then took his hand, gave it a squeeze.

"You got family, Sid? Hold on to them tight." She didn't give him a chance to say that he'd left them behind a long time ago.

"I got family here," he said instead, pulling another grin from her.

She squeezed his hand again and let go. "Guess I did talk about it tonight after all."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll let you get back. Sleep well." The grin on her face turned mischievous. "Unless you and the boss have other plans."

Heat crawled up his neck. "Is it that obvious?"

"It really is." She backed into the room. "Night."

"Night." He stared at the closed door for a long time.


	15. Chapter 15

Garrus kept blowing her off. They hadn't had a good conversation in weeks, and every time she tried to engage him, it was always "I'm busy with calibrations." The damn gun could've probably hit a speck on a wall by now. Whatever his problem was, Shepard was sick of his excuses.

He couldn't avoid her on a mission. There was a Cerberus facility, Jack told her, that needed a good blowing up. For catharsis, for laying to rest old demons. Shepard was asking her crew to die for a mission. It only seemed right that they get their chance to put their affairs in order before the inevitable. This was so personal for Jack. She wanted a third set of eyes to accompany them, and Garrus was the only one she trusted to be sensitive to what Jack was asking.

"This was a mistake," Jack said tersely once they were on the shuttle.

"It'll be ok," Shepard said.

Jack cracked a knuckle. "I'll be fine. Let's get on the ground."

 

Pragia was hot, humid, and rainy. The moment they opened the shuttle doors, the wind blew in and rain lashed their faces. They didn't linger on the roof long, Jack guiding them inside. Even after all those years, Garrus thought, she still knew the place like back of her hand.

The rain spilled down his face. It was warm. He imagined that it must feel very similar to crying, for species that produced tears. He blinked the rain out of his eyes, and as soon as they were inside, he tipped to the side, dumping the water out of his cowl.

Jack didn't notice. The normally wary biotic was too caught up in memories. She walked as though in a daze, narrating everything with a detached quality.

In a way, Garrus envied her. If he could return to Omega and blow up the old base, he would. Like the turian custom of cremating bodies, he would cremate the whole damn place. All those memories that had soured would go up in smoke and flame.

They had company. Blood Pack mercs were there. They took the mercs down easily enough, Garrus pulling the trigger with a little extra vigor. His face twinged with every shot he took. Jack was furious to see them here, in this place that should've been empty for her to confront.

As for Garrus, he imagined that every merc wore Sidonis's face.

And then it was over. Shepard stopped Jack from killing the bastard who had come here to resume the research. "It must've done some good," the man said. "Right? They had to do it for a reason."

The anger that twisted Jack's face vanished soon enough, as soon as the man had run and she was left standing in the remains of her cell. Quietly looking around, relating the memories—he shouldn't be here, Garrus knew. It was too personal, too private. He backed out of the doorway while Jack was absorbed, and looked back down the hall where they'd came from.

There wasn't any reason to Cerberus, Garrus thought. All they wanted was to rip open the world and see what was inside. But what they ripped open, they couldn't put back together afterwards. But the man, a victim himself, had seemed so fervent when he said it: _There's got to be a reason_. Sparing him had been an act of pity alone, he thought. Not mercy. The man would have to live the rest of his life with those doubts plaguing his mind.

Garrus didn't want any doubts lingering in his own. What could've been—if things had gone a little differently—if he'd sounded the alarm earlier—or noticed that something was wrong—

It didn't matter where Sidonis was now, he told himself. _All that matters is that I lay this to rest._

_For my team._

Garrus had tried his best. He'd bought a decorated ceramic bowl. He filled it with water, and used a hot plate to turn the water to steam. An alternative to incense used on spaceships, to prevent smoke from gumming up the systems. He'd knelt on the floor, and watched the steam rise, then bowed and touched his head to the ground, just like he'd seen Weaver do in prayer. And he'd prayed as hard as he could, prayed that the spirits of his friends were satisfied with his efforts, that they could rest. But it felt hollow. _I did my best for them, and it wasn't enough._

 

The explosion shook the shuttle as they evacuated. Jack's face was unreadable. Garrus just stared out the window in a kind of daze.

After all these long weeks of trying to talk to Jack and get through her angry shell, Shepard finally felt like she'd succeeded. Jack had handled the situation admirably, listening to Shepard's case for not shooting the man, and in the end, had let him go. Maybe it was possible for people to face the past and come out better for it. Shepard took a deep breath. Here she was doing all these things for her crew, and yet she felt as lost as any of them.

She'd been wrong. Garrus _could_ ignore her on a mission.

It had taken a bomb to get through to Jack.

What would it take to get through to Garrus?  


* * *

  
"Team two is in position."

"Acknowledged." Garrus's voice came scratchy over the com. "You have ten minutes."

"Moving out," Butler replied. He and Lantar dropped down from landing pad they were on and darted through the shipping yard, ducking behind crates. Lantar had his visor on under his helmet; as far as he could tell, the area was clear of people. No organic heat signatures.

Just as they'd planned.

Eclipse was smuggling criminals into Omega. When Weaver had learned this via an intercepted communication, Garrus grumbled loudly in disgust. What was the point of fighting criminals if more kept coming in?

So they planned a multistage operation to disrupt these shipments. Tonight, the main goal was to get intel. If they could break into Eclipse's computer records, their job would be much easier.  
Garrus, Mel, and the new guy, Monteague, were going to distract the guards patrolling the Eclipse docking bay. Lantar and Butler would use the commotion to sneak in and link Weaver into the computer. She could download everything remotely, then they'd evacuate and leave Eclipse none the wiser.

They had ten minutes until the guard on rounds would walk past one of the back entrances. Ten minutes to sprint across the shipping yard and get in with no one noticing. Which they did seamlessly.

Butler closed the door behind them, and locked it with his omnitool. Dangerous, could possibly hinder an escape, but an unlocked door would immediately put the guard on alert. Lantar squinted through the visor. So far, he still had no heat signatures showing up.

"We're in," Butler reported.

"All right. Diversion team, go."

And then the sound of gunfire filled their coms. It was a gamble on how long Garrus and the others could tie up the guards, so they went as quickly as possible, pistols out, sliding down the corridor. A door on the left would lead them to the server room—

An asari in Eclipse armor stepped out of the door, a pack of cigarettes in her hand. They saw her at the same moment she saw them, and they all froze.

A cheerful whoop from Garrus over the com broke Lantar out of his surprise, and he raised his pistol to fire—

Only to find himself being tossed through the air. He didn't even have time to think "damn biotics" before he hit the floor, face first. His head was ringing. There were cracks in his vision—no, that was the window on his helmet. He blinked away the dizziness, and pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside. He saw Butler, pistol forgotten, running at the asari, his fists up. The asari quickly threw a stasis field at him.

Lantar raised his pistol again, and the asari's attention turned back to him, and she laughed. "Didn't expect a barefaced vagrant."

His shots flickered off her shields. Garrus's outraged voice came through the com. "He's _my_ barefaced vagrant. Lantar, can you guys deal with this?"

"Do we have a choice?" he asked, continuing to fire.

"If we pull out now, the rest of the guards will probably close in on your location," Garrus replied. "Change of plan. Finish up what you're doing there, and evacuate. Once you're safe, we'll leave."

"I don't know if we can—" His feet left the ground, biotic energy crackling around him. Weightless, the force of firing the gun pushed him around in midair so that he couldn't see the asari to shoot.

"Are you ok?"

"I'll finish up!" Butler's voice cut in, and Lantar looked down. The stasis had worn off, and Butler was shooting as quickly as he could. And then he fell a second time, hitting the ground with enough force that he could feel the visor frame break. The display in his vision flickered and died. He lay there, gasping for breath.

Butler's shots ceased. "She's dead."

"Oh good." Lantar pushed himself up, and hunched over, burying his face in his hands to try and steady himself.

Butler grabbed his arm. "We have to get out of here. Can you walk?"

"I can try." He was shaky on his feet, so Butler wrapped an arm around him.

"Shit," Butler muttered. "Any idea if the guard's gone by yet?"

Lantar wobbled. "They're probably busy elsewhere."

"Fair point." Butler unlocked the door. "Time to run."

Butler ran, half dragging Lantar behind him. They made it through the shipping yard without any problems, and Butler had to shove Lantar up the ladder. The skycar was parked on the landing pad. As soon as they were in, Butler started the engine. "We're fine, get out of there!"

The reply sounded far away, even though the com was nestled right next to Lantar's eardrum. "Meet you back at base, half hour tops."

"Uh—" Butler pulled off his helmet and glanced at Lantar. Lantar glanced back. "Sid, you've got blood on your face." He started to reach out, but pulled back. "How's your head?"

"Still dizzy," Lantar admitted.

"Boss, I'm taking him to the clinic," Butler said into the com. "You guys get home, I'll check in with you later."

"Contact me as soon as you know he's ok," Garrus replied, and then the channel went dead.

The skycar lifted up and into the Omega night.

Lantar closed his eyes, trying to block out the flashing of the lights passing through the car. He wasn't sure if closing his eyes made the dizziness worse.

"That's a rough break," Butler said, breaking the silence.

"Mmhm," Lantar said.

"Sorry I lost my head, man. I should've just shot her, instead of going for a punch."

"'S ok. We got out."

The skycar descended, and Butler parked it on the street in front of the clinic. He popped out of the car, and moved around to the other side to help Lantar. The exterior of the clinic was well lit. Lantar tried to avoid looking at the mummified merc corpses that were still outside. A surge of nausea passed over him.

The receptionist took one look at him, and Butler barely had time to say "He fell on his head" before the receptionist hit a button. "Mi, can you take this one?"

And he was lying on a hospital bed while an asari nurse shone a light into his eyes. He tried not to blink.

She finally put the light away. "Concussion," she said. "You've also got some cuts on your face that I'd like to clean out. Hold still, please."

"How long will it take for him to recover?" Butler was sitting in a chair in the small room.

"It's not too severe," she said, swabbing Lantar's face with warm water. "I should think no more than a few days." She finished with that, and plucked the mangled remains of Lantar's visor from his head. "Do you mind if I ask what happened? There were reports of gunfire down by the docks."

"We're not mercs," Butler said. "Just got in a fight is all."

"The professor doesn't treat members of the gangs as a rule," she said. "They should take care of their own. You wouldn't even be here if you had gang insignias on your armor." She paused. "Just have to get some paperwork. I'll be right back."

"Insignias," Butler said. "Why don't we have insignias?"

"Too dangerous," Lantar mumbled. "Too easy to identify." He blinked. "Too expensive."

Butler laughed. "You have a point there." He was silent for a moment. "Hey. I'm sorry I've been ragging on you so much. I just have a shitty sense of humor is all."

Lantar tried to shake his head, but doing so made his vision blur. "I've been just as bad. I'm sorry too."

Butler grinned. "Truce, then." He laughed. "It takes an Eclipse merc to get us to make up. That bodes well for the future of the team."

"Plenty more Eclipse mercs—"

"You were fighting Eclipse?" The asari nurse had returned without them noticing. Her tone was anxious.

"Well, they were fighting us," Butler said.

She dropped the paperwork. "Goddess. You're part of Archangel, aren't you. No one else would dare go after Eclipse."

Butler and Lantar glanced at each other. "Uh—"

"You're safe here," she said. "The professor keeps us safe. He's not just a doctor, you know."

"Hey," Butler said. "Anyone with the balls to publicly fuck with the Blue Suns has my respect."

"The professor gets very annoyed when anyone tries to interfere with his work," she said. "I'm just grateful that there are people like him who bother with Omega. This would be a much scarier place without it."

"Yeah," Butler said. "Yeah, we know the feeling."

She nodded, and handed Butler the paperwork. "Anyone trying to do good on Omega needs a medic at their side."

"Are you—"

"Just a thing to consider," she said.

The vague conversation was making Lantar's head hurt. "I wanna go home, " he interrupted. "Can I go home?"

She turned to him. "You should be fine. Take it easy for a few days. No reading, no computer use, and definitely no physical activity. I know it sounds silly, but thinking too hard can aggravate the injury."

Butler made a face. " _Thinking_ too hard?" The face quickly turned into an evil grin. "Shouldn't be an issue."

"Garrus will gut you," Lantar said. "I'll tell him, and he'll toss you off the bridge."

"All right, boys," the nurse said. "You should be getting home. Remember, take it easy. Good sleep will help. And—" She swallowed. "You know where to find me."

"Yeah, yeah we do," Butler said. "I'll swing by tomorrow. You know. To let you know how he's recovering."

 

"I'm sorry," Lantar whispered.

"For what?" Garrus fluffed up the pillows and Lantar laid down.

"The visor…you bought me. It broke."

"You don't have to be sorry," Garrus said. "Shit happens." He took the broken pieces and set them aside. "Get some sleep."

"Mm'k."

He turned off the lights and locked the door behind him.

Everyone was sitting down in the greatroom, their eyes on him as he came down the stairs. Butler stood, his arms folded, and they locked eyes. "Butler," Garrus said. "Report."

"One fucking asari," Butler said, glaring at Garrus. "Nothing we couldn't handle, theoretically. But instead, we blew the entire op."

"You don't have to tell me," Garrus said, keeping his voice calm, not wanting to wake up Lantar.

"One asari on a smoke break," Butler said. "The plan _should've_ been airtight." He jabbed a finger at Garrus's chest. "One asari is telling me otherwise."

"It was just random chance," Monteague said. The human was tall and scarred, with a shock of grey hair. He was much less scary in person than his appearance would suggest. "We had good intel. All the guards were where they should've been. It was just bad luck."

"Bad luck shouldn't compromise the entire plan!" Butler said. "There should've been contingencies! You put Sid and me in a position where we only had one line of retreat and you guys wouldn't be able to rush in and help. And _thanks_ for that," he added sarcastically. "Put the two guys with no infiltration experience on the infiltration. What's the deal with that again?"

"You and Lantar are quick, quiet, and you work well together," Garrus said, trying to keep his voice in check. "Despite your personal issues."

"Which we patched over at the clinic," Butler said coolly, "right before the nurse tells us how crazy we are for trying to take on Eclipse."

"Good to hear," Garrus said.

Everyone was silent for a moment. Garrus broke his glare with Butler, dropping his eyes. "I never asked you if you were ok."

Butler shrugged. "Never want to get put in stasis again. That was uncomfortable. Other than that, I'm fine."

"Good," Garrus said. He looked around at the rest of the team. "Get some sleep, everyone. We'll go over Weaver's new intel in the morning."

They stood and silently left the room, Monteague taking a detour to put an empty plate in the sink.

Garrus started heading for the stairs, but Monteague stopped him. "Hey. Boss. Sit." They sat at the table.

Garrus liked the older human; they were something of kindred spirits. Monteague was a veteran of C-Sec who'd left as well, but to hear him talk about it, he was sick of being held up as a model human for politicking purposes. As soon as he'd arrived on Omega, he'd been hauled into Afterlife so that Aria could reassure herself that he wasn't some deep-cover agent for the purposes of infiltrating the station's underworld. Weaver had picked up on the transmission, and Garrus jumped at the chance to grab someone with policing experience.

Monteague accepted Garrus as the leader of the squad, but his advice had proved invaluable to the team in the past few weeks.

"Butler was right, you know," he said. "About having contingencies."

Garrus sighed. "I know."

"Hey." The human caught his gaze and held it. "I get it. You're young, Garrus. You've got the potential to become a great leader, but you have to be aware of your own limitations."

"I know. I know I'm still learning." Garrus let his mandibles relax, letting all the tension out. "Hard to learn when any mistake might get your friends killed."

Monteague shrugged. "That's called experience. Getting it hurts sometimes. Tell me that Commander Shepard never made a mistake, and I'd tell you that you'd been snorting too much red sand."

"Heh. There were plenty of mistakes along the line. I think we mostly got through on luck and a lot of initiative."

"You can't rely on luck," Monteague said, the amused expression slipping off his face. "But initiative, on the other hand…you've found some good people. Everyone keeps their heads, you can trust them in a tight spot."

"What would you suggest?"

"Initiative. You know everyone, you know their strengths. Play to them, but keep drilling everyone. You and I have dealt with biotics before, but I don't think anyone else has." He propped his head up on his hand and gazed across the table. "You're military. This is a military operation, isn't it?"

Garrus nodded.

"So treat it like one." He raised his arm and saluted. "Sir."

 

Butler walked into the base the next day with an asari in tow. "Everyone, this is Mierin. Mierin, everyone. She's our new medic."

Nalah slipped in behind them. "Do a proper introduction," she said, poking Butler in the shoulder.

Butler heaved a theatrical sigh. "Mierin, this is Garrus. He's the boss."

"A medic?" Garrus asked, holding out his hand, which Mierin shook. "How come this is the first time I'm hearing about this?"

"I had the fortune of meeting your friends at Dr. Solus's clinic last night," Mierin said. "From the looks of them last night, I think you could use me. How is the patient?"

"He was sleeping when I left—" Butler started.

Melenis came over. "He came down, ate lunch, and went back to sleep." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, to where Lantar was stretched out on a couch. "He sleeps a lot normally, but this is excessive."

"It's the best thing for him, at the moment," Mierin said.

"Well," Garrus said. "You're a medic, huh? What kind of experience do you have?"

They ran through Mierin's qualifications, which were relatively impressive for someone slumming in a free clinic on Omega. Meanwhile, Nalah joined everyone else in the greatroom. As soon as Garrus broke away from talking with Mierin, Butler grinned and grabbed Nalah's hand. "Tell everyone the good news," he said.

"Sixteen weeks and healthy," Nalah announced. "I got a scan this morning, and it's a girl!"

Various congratulations were interrupted by Melenis. "Humans can find out the gender before birth?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," said Butler. "Why, turians can't…?"

"No," she said. "How would you know? Everything's internal."

Everyone in the room burst into laughter, except for Butler, who had a slightly horrified expression on his face.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" Monteague asked.

"We're still working on it," Nalah said. "As soon as we do, I'll let you guys know."

"I miss being pregnant," Melenis said. "The excitement…and everyone fussing over you…"

Nalah laughed. "I'll trade you. It startled me so bad the first time she kicked. And having to pee all the time…I'd rather just get it over with."

There was a groan from the other couch. Lantar sat up and rubbed his eyes. "You guys are so _loud_ ," he muttered, and got up and headed for the stairs. Garrus followed.

The others clustered around as soon as the two turians had gone. "Welcome to the team, Mierin," Weaver said brightly. "That being said, there are a few rules…"

"No civilian causalities," Melenis stated. "All the money earned is split evenly."

"Sid and the boss are fuckbuddies," Butler added. "So knock on their door first."

"No alcohol in the base. If you come back drunk, be discreet. That's Sid's rule, the boss doesn't know about it," Melenis said.

"If you break that rule, Sid will nail you to the wall," Butler added.

"Don't touch the plants," Weaver added. "That's also Sid's rule."

"If any of those plants come to harm, he'll nail you to the wall," Butler added.

Monteague scratched his stubble. "Don't give the poor girl the wrong impression…"

"That's about it," Melenis interrupted. "Is that acceptable?"

Mierin nodded. All the others broke into grins. "Then welcome to Archangel."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly involving quarians.

"I just killed the smartest and bravest of my daughters," Samara said. "I would like some time."

Shepard nodded. "I'll see you back at the _Normandy_ ," she said. "Take as much time as you need."

"Commander," Samara called as Shepard started to leave the apartment, "Officer Vakarian is waiting outside. He was rather worried."

Garrus wasn't outside. Shepard pulled up omnitool. "EDI," she said. "Can you give me Garrus's location?"

Not a second later, EDI answered. "Officer Vakarian is a klick from your location, heading towards Kima District."

 _Kima._ Shit. Shepard broke into a run, hoping to catch up with him. She kept a map up on her omnitool, following Garrus's path. She ducked and wove through the crowds, ignoring an angry shout from a batarian in her wake.

She finally caught up to him near the transport docks at Afterlife. "Garrus," she called. He turned around. "You really shouldn't be wandering around Omega on your own—"

"I was monitoring your vitals. I knew you were ok—"

"—a turian in blue armor with his face blown off, Garrus, it's just not safe—"

"—and I really didn't want to see Samara after what she had to do—"

They halted, Garrus once again shrugging off Shepard's grasp on his arm. "Shepard," he said. "Just—let me go. I have to do this."

"Whatever it is," she said, "I'm coming with you."

He looked down. "Ok."

They walked the rest of the way to Kima District in silence. The boulevard had been cleaned up, all the debris of the siege gone. Now there was just the debris of ordinary life. Garbage bins and building materials, construction being done on the old high rises.

Garrus looked around, the expression on his face changing from dull to amazed. "There are people living here now," he said. "The district used to be completely deserted."

"Garrus," Shepard asked, "what are you intending to do?"

"I left some…security measures," he said. "Measures I didn't take. I can blow the whole base to nothing, and I want to be there when I do."

"Why?"

"Same reason Jack had to blow up that facility on Pragia."

Shepard nodded. "Ok."

They rounded the corner, and the base came into view. The building was a looming skeleton in the halflight, scorch marks and bullet holes ridding the exterior. The entrances and windows were all shuttered, and the "welcome" sign Shepard remembered from before was unlit.

"Well," said Garrus, pulling up his omnitool, "this is it. Might want to stand back and cover your ears."

Something caught Shepard's eye. "Garrus, wait."

"What—"

She proceeded up to the bridge, him following in her wake. "Oh spirits," he whispered.

A makeshift memorial had sprung up. Candles glowed in their votives, flowers lying in bundles, photos and cards, and this being Omega, people had left heat sinks, weapons, and scraps of tech.

Garrus slowly approached. Shepard could see his legs shaking. He fell to his knees in front of the memorial. Shepard sat down at his side. They sat in silence for a while, taking it all in.

Garrus reached out and picked up a photo. Shepard peered over his shoulder. The photo showed a human man, smiling for the camera. On the bottom of the photo was written, "All my love, my brave husband." Beneath that, "DADDY."

"Donald Butler," Garrus said, his voice hollow. "His daughter is almost a year old."

Shepard reached out, and for once, he didn't flinch from her touch. She squeezed his arm.

He put the photo down, and reached for two more. A turian woman, and a portrait of a man in C-Sec formalwear. "Melenis and Monteague." He placed the photos together on the ground. "They ended up falling in love. They were just—so happy together."

There was incense too, burning in a variety of holders. Shepard inhaled, the smells heady on her tongue. Garrus continued sorting through the photos. A woman in Alliance dress, coupled with a pink headscarf— "Deenah Weaver"—an asari—"Mierin, she worked for Dr. Solus". A photo of a girl pole dancing. "Ripper." Garrus pointed to a canvas covered in swirling designs. "I think that's one of her paintings. She—" He looked down again. "The girl who Morinth killed, Nef? They were friends. Knew each other from this artsy bar in Gozu."

He carefully picked up and rearranged some of the bouquets, and continued to sort through the pile. "I don't see Erash and Lurk—of course they wouldn't be here, they only had each other. Sensat didn't have many friends after she left Eclipse. Vortash—well, I don't think anyone knew he was on Omega to begin with. He never spoke much about his past."

Shepard leaned against him, wincing as the jagged edges of his ruined armor scraped against her skin. He let out a long breath. "It's good to know that they'll be remembered," he said.

Shepard reached out and picked up a card. Together, they read through the messages that people had left for the deceased. Messages of sorrow, thanks, and hope. "I'd forgotten what it was like to not be afraid anymore," one read. "Omega won't be the same anymore," said another.

"Godspeed."

Shepard reached out again and picked up a silvery oval the size of a baseball. "What's this?"

Garrus glanced at it. "It's a fruit—" His voice dropped an octave, and turned icy. "Where did you find that?"

Shepard pointed. Garrus lifted up the piece of paper that the fruit had been sitting on top of. His mandibles clenched against his face as he stared down at it.

"Garrus, what's wrong?" Shepard looked down. It was a blurry image of a turian. The writing on the photo simply said, "I'M SORRY."

She swallowed. "Is that—?"

"Sidonis." He scrunched up the piece of paper. "But he didn't die in the attack. He doesn't deserve to be here."

Shepard took the photo from him and uncrumpled it.

"Who did this?" he asked. "He didn't have anyone outside of Archangel. Not that I know of."

She squinted at the image. "It looks like this was taken from a security camera," she said.

He looked at the paper again. "I don't…I don't know." He sighed. "I don't know who wrote this."

"Are you ok?"

He wrapped his hand around the fruit, gloved talons scraping across the hard shell. He drew back his arm, as though to throw it, then sighed and set it down. "It's a perfectly good fruit," he muttered. "Someone might as well take it."

He stood. Shepard tucked the photo back underneath the fruit and followed. "Let's go," he said. "I don't want to be here anymore."  


* * *

  
Garrus was in the marketplace, sorting through discount tech when the quarian merchant received a call. "Can it wait, Yani? I've got a customer—"

Garrus laid down a credit chit, his eye on some remote detonators.

The merchant's eyes went wide behind his helmet. "Shit. Another?" He reached out and grabbed the credit chit, still focusing on the call as he totaled the purchase.

"Damn. I know, you don't need to tell me—look, I'll be there as soon as I can—"

He handed Garrus a small box. "See you in ten minutes." He cut the call. "I'm sorry sir, I need to go, it's an emergency, just need to lock down the kiosk, have a good day—" then he was gone.

Garrus clutched his purchase as the quarian scurried away. _What was that about?_

 

Eclipse was losing men fast. _Going to have to do some recruiting if we keep this up,_ Garrus mused.

It was a simple enough task. The data on Eclipse's smuggling activities obtained at last, they lay in wait for the ships, and opened fire at an opportune moment. Garrus assigned a small distraction team, who would retreat as soon as the Eclipse heavies moved in, drawing the mercs away from the docking bays and towards where the rest of the team lay in wait.

It was surgical. Eclipse was forced to dial back on their shipments, and scramble to replace the men they'd lost, including a few high level enforcers.

A few weeks was all it took. Garrus eventually called it off, satisfied that Eclipse was reeling and wouldn't be up to anything for quite some time.

He gave a team a break too. Garrus spent his time wiring up security for the basement. His new remote detonators could be used to collapse all the basement entrances from his omnitool. He also got the old shutters down there working, a second way to seal things off if something went bad.

The others spent their free time partying. And that was how he met Ripper.

They burst into the base late one night: Mel, Monteague, Weaver, Mierin, and Butler, dragging a pink-haired human in tow.

"Boss!" Weaver called. "We got one for you!"

Garrus looked away from the vidscreen; he and Lantar had been snuggling up all night watching bad comedy. "What?"

The pink-haired human was an exotic dancer in one of the clubs that his team members had been frequenting. A drunk vorcha had burst in, waving around a nasty modified shotgun and screaming incoherent threats. In a flash, the human had pulled a pistol out of her bra and took the vorcha down in one shot. All this while upside down on the pole and without missing one beat. Her name was Ripper.

"Ripper the stripper," Butler said.

Ripped rolled her eyes. "I'm a _dancer_. I don't _strip_."

"Why do they call you Ripper?" asked Monteague.

Her grin was wicked. "'Cause I tear up the pole."

She was also a painter, as it turned out, and provided invaluable access to Omega's underground art community. The intel she brought back allowed them to get to criminals they would've had no idea about otherwise.

The weeks passed. They interrupted a red sand ring that was killing debtors. The dealer died a nasty death when one of the crates ruptured, causing him to choke on his own product.

 

The quarian tech merchant had someone else at his market stall the next time Garrus went shopping. It was unusual to see quarians on Omega, let alone two in one place. The new one was a woman in a russet suit, sitting on the counter and fiddling with some wires. Both of the quarians looked up from what had been a heated argument when Garrus and Monteague approached.

"Am I interrupting?" Garrus asked.

"No, not at all," the merchant said. "What can I do for you?"

"I was looking for some high capacity heat sinks…"

The merchant ducked under the counter. The woman rolled her eyes. "Deny it all you want, Kenn, it's still better to—"

"I can't afford to back away from business," the merchant replied, coming up with a few boxes.

"Neither can I," the woman said, "but this is bigger than us. I'd rather be a few credits in the hole than dead. Can you say the same?"

The merchant shook his head. "Two hundred credits per fifty sinks," he said to Garrus, who dug out a chit.

"Is everything all right?" Monteague asked.

The woman glared from behind her helmet. "Nothing that's any of your business," she snapped.

 

Garrus kept his eyes glued to Weaver's decoded transmissions. There was nothing unusual coming in, certainly nothing about quarians.

Instead, they devoted their time to figuring out how to take down the Blue Sun's extensive protection racket. Businesses all over Omega paid exorbitant fees to the Suns for protection. The protection was as much from Suns retribution as well as ordinary crime.

Starting with the Gozu district, they mapped out the levels of Suns hierarchy, figuring out who answered to who, which areas were controlled by different gang members, and how different sections could be isolated and taken down.

Eclipse was beginning to chew away at the Sun's territory on the edge of the district, and scuffles between the two were common. Garrus planned to take advantage of this.

What he didn't expect was to be caught in a massive firefight when one of the Eclipse mercs turned on her own people. In the confusion, Garrus laid down covering fire to get his team to safety. The asari who'd turned took a bullet in her shoulder. Garrus hesitated a moment, then grabbed her and dragged her to safety as well.

They paused for breath in an abandoned building. Gunfire still echoed on the streets outside. He dropped the asari and bent down, pulling off her helmet. She was pale and shaking, clutching her shoulder. Violet blood oozed from between her fingers.

Mierin pulled off her own helmet and went for the medical kit she wore on her waist. "Hold still," she said.

"What was that?" Garrus asked as Mierin bent down with forceps and a syringe of medigel.

The asari grimaced. "That was my resignation."

"You turned against Eclipse?"

"They don't let you leave, you know. Not peacefully." She winced as Mierin fished out the bullet. "I'm four hundred. I'm tired of killing. It was time to move on."

"That's not moving on," Butler muttered. "That was suicide."

She shrugged, earning a reprimand from Mierin. "I wanted to make a statement."

Garrus glanced around at his team. Lantar nodded.

"Want to make a stronger statement?" Garrus asked.

And that was how Sensat joined Archangel.

 

The quarian merchant had been spending more and more time away from his market stall. There was a note posted on the desk. "Open only two days of the week. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Garrus made sure to check in on one of the days that it was open.

This time, both quarians carried large shotguns at their hips instead of the utilitarian pistol one tended to see on Omega. The merchant looked up from some welding. "I think you're becoming my best customer," he said to Garrus, putting the torch away. "No one else has been willing to stay with me through all this scheduling nonsense. What can I do for you?"

"It's not that he's a good customer, it's that he's too interested in poking his nose into our business," the woman said acerbically.

"Yani!" the merchant scolded.

"I was after microshield generators," Garrus said, "but I am worried as well. Can I do anything to help you guys?"

The woman turned away. "You're not quarian. Why would you help us?"

"My name is Garrus Vakarian." Garrus held out his hand to the merchant, ignoring the woman. "Vas Normandy."

" _Normandy_ ," the merchant repeated. "The ship that repelled the geth attacks?"

"I'm not a quarian," Garrus said, "but there was one on board the Normandy and we ended up becoming friends. So yeah, I do care about what happens to you guys."

"Friends with one quarian and he thinks he's entitled to us all," the woman said.

"Look," said Garrus. "I run a small squad. We're not mercs, but we do make it our business to help people out. So we're at your disposal if you need us."

The merchant was silent for a few moments, then turned his back and started digging through a box. "Microshield generators, I can do," he said. "Yani, we shouldn't refuse help. This thing is already out of control, and more and more people are going to keep dying if we don't do something."

He straightened up and banged the generators on the counter. Yani sat, her back to them. She eventually sighed. "I don't like bringing outsiders into this," she said.

"I think we're out of options," the merchant said gently.

Garrus passed over the credits. "How much are you and your mercs going to have us for?" Yani asked.

"Gratis," Garrus said. "We make our money off of taking down bad people, not by bankrupting the innocent."

Yani snorted. "No one on Omega is innocent. Kenn, make the call."

 

The quarian community center of Omega was tucked away in an old mining barracks. The entrance had been modified into a decontamination chamber.

Garrus's crew wore full armor and helmets as a precaution. Garrus couldn't help sneaking glances at Lantar every so often; he'd bought a new suit of armor for Lantar as a gift and the dark teal hard plating framed the man's body perfectly.

The four of them—Garrus, Lantar, Monteague, and Weaver—sat at a table with the two quarians, Yani and Kenn.

"So here's the deal," Kenn said. "Someone is murdering quarians."

"You have a serial killer?" Garrus asked.

"Well—we think they're dead. What we do know is that people have been vanishing off the streets. No trace of them left behind. And we never hear from them again."

"Is it possible that we're looking at slave trafficking?" Monteague asked.

Yani shook her head. "Doubtful. There are only a few hundred quarians on Omega. These aren't the kind of numbers to sustain a slave operation."

"How long has this been going on?"

"About a year," Kenn said. "At first, it was only one or two. But the disappearances have been increasing dramatically in the past few months. We lost five this past month alone."

Monteague looked at Garrus. "Some of us used to be with C-Sec," he said. "If anyone can find out where your people have been going, we can."

"We've been taking precautions…" Kenn said. "No one is allowed to be alone anymore. That's why I've been away so much; Yani and I are taking turns at each other's businesses."

"This is really hurting us," said Yani. "I won't lie, the situation is pretty desperate. Quarians get so much shit already; this is only making it harder for us to get by."

Weaver pulled up her omnitool. "We're going to need some data. A list of people who have gone missing, the date, and the last place they were seen."

"I'll get it sent to you," Yani said. "And—thank you. I'm sorry I was rude. I'm not used to anyone sticking their necks out for us."

"Don't worry," Garrus said. "We'll find your killer."

 

Sensat took the data and mapped everything out. They stood around a table in the greatroom, Sensat's projection of the area hovering above the surface.

"Everything's timestamped," Sensat said. "This is the past year." She ran the simulation. First a small dot in the area surrounding the quarian center. A few more popped up sporadically, but it wasn't until the end when the dots began popping up regularly.

"All right," said Garrus. "It's pretty obvious that all the disappearances are in this one region. But does that mean this is where our killer is operating? Or are these places that quarians frequent?"

"Or both," said Melenis. "That area of the station is pretty dilapidated, even for Omega. You mostly get the dregs down there."

"I don't even think Aria monitors some of these streets," Weaver added.

"Can we get street names up on this?" Ripper asked.

Sensat added another overlay to the projection. Ripper leaned in. "There's an artist's colony down here," she said, pointing to some of the old eezo processing areas. "You think I'm bohemian, you should see these guys. I'm pretty sure they spend all their time high. Anyway, I just thought of something. I'm pretty sure quarians aren't the only ones vanishing. The colony has had a few disappearances as well."

"Really?" said Weaver. "Can you remember specifics?"

"Yeah, I'll ping a few of my people," Ripper said. "I should be able to get places and times."

Monteague scratched his stubble. "If it isn't just quarians, we might be looking at an entirely different ballgame."

"I'm still not sure it's slavery," Garrus said. "The patterns don't look like any sort of trafficking I've ever seen…"

"I agree with that," Monteague said. "We may be looking at disappearances by a gang, or debt collectors."

"None of the big players operate down there, though," Melenis said. "I wasn't kidding about it being the dregs. I'm talking vorcha that aren't aggressive enough to get any nicer territory, I'm talking about people who are completely dispossessed."

"Why do the quarians hang out down there, in that case?" Mierin asked.

"Safety," Garrus said grimly. "Quarians prefer to stay overlooked."

Ripper rejoined the group. "I was right," she said. "They've lost four people so far. Sen, I'll send you the data."

"What do you know about those people?" Garrus asked.

"They're artists," Ripped said with a shrug. "Poor, spend most of their time on drugs. One of them was the colony's biggest player though. Arianna Vetus. Mixed-media sculptor. A lot of her stuff was picked up by the big galleries."

"That's a turian name," Lantar said.

"The others?"

Ripped scanned over the message. "You know, that is funny. All four of them are turians."

Sensat updated the projection. Four new dots appeared, all clustered in the area where the highest number of quarian disappearances were.

"So someone's hunting quarians and turians," Butler said.

"What's the connection?" Weaver said.

Butler shrugged. "Our killer's got a thing for dextro."

"You think the culprit is targeting people by _chirality?_ "

"I don't know," Butler said. "Anyone got any other ideas?"

 

Lantar stayed at the table while most of the others headed upstairs for the night. He had the projection up still, and kept poring over it, looking for something, anything, that had been overlooked.

He knew that area by hearsay more than experience. It was a dare often given to people new to Omega, to go exploring those mine shafts. Lantar had pulled this kid out of there once. Stupid kid hadn't known enough not to take the older workers at the warehouse seriously, and had almost killed himself after putting a foot through a rusted catwalk. Lantar had followed him, fished him out, gave him a serious talking to, and suggested that he stay away from some of the more unkind workers in the future.

He flicked through the display, tracing routes through the streets. One victim here, two there.

"I can't stand it," Melenis said in a low voice from the kitchen. "Most of them were just kids."

"I thought you'd be used to it by now," Monteague's voice replied. "How long have you lived on Omega?"

"I can't get used to it," Mel said. "Not when it's kids."

A thought occurred to Lantar. The old mines were tricky to navigate; full of catwalks and ledges and empty mineshafts and unstable areas. It would be tricky to move a body through there.

The question was, were the victims alive or dead when they went missing?

If they were alive, that would probably mean a struggle. Almost everyone on Omega carried weapons, so it probably wouldn't be that easy to abduct someone quietly. And it wasn't like you could just hold a drugged cloth over a quarian's mouth and nose.

So he decided to assume that the victims were dead when they were taken. There didn't have to be physical evidence like blood left behind. But then the culprit would have to somehow get a dead body away without attracting notice. He doubted that the bodies were being moved a long distance.

That would mean that the killer was operating out of somewhere in the vicinity.

"You were a cop, right?" asked Mel. "You must've seen some nasty stuff. How did you deal with it?"

"Well…after a while, I just learned to turn my emotions off. To stop feeling."

"That's no way to live," Mel said.

Monteague's voice was heavy. "I know. But I didn't know what else to do."

Lantar opened up the controls for the projection, and after a few minutes of searching, found what he needed. He entered 5 minutes at 5 kph, and added a layer to display the new data.

Around each of the victim's dots appeared a circle, showing how far one could travel at that speed. He scanned through the projection, and changed a few parameters. After a bit of fiddling, a picture emerged; the spots where the victims were taken were all within a short distance of one of three tunnel entrances. These tunnels all led to the same old mining installation.

_I'd bet my fringe that that's where our killer is operating from._

"It was easier when I had a family," Mel said softly. "I knew that as long as I had them, everything would be all right somehow. But now they're gone, and I'm just a bitter old woman."

"I never had a family," Monteague said, his voice husky. "I had to face everything alone."

"But you're not alone anymore," Melenis murmured.

Lantar saved the projection to his omnitool to show Garrus, and stood up, yawning. He glanced over at the kitchen. Melenis and Monteague were embracing tightly, their mouths pressed together in a kiss.

He quietly made his way upstairs. Garrus was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head dropping in a doze over the datapad he held. He looked up when Lantar came into the room.

"Think I've got something with the serial killer," Lantar murmured, sitting next to Garrus.

Garrus set the datapad down on the floor. "Nice. Show me in the morning?"

"Yeah." He glanced at Garrus. "Can we try something?"

"Of all the times to get experimental," Garrus teased. "I'm tired tonight."

"Just—quickly." Lantar's mind was burning up with curiosity. He touched Garrus's cheek and leaned in as if to touch foreheads, but aimed lower, and gently brushed his mouthplates against Garrus's. Garrus quickly caught on to the thought and mimicked the motion, sliding their mouths together softly. After a moment they broke apart.

"I'm not sure if that works," Garrus says, "when neither partner has lips."

"You're probably right." _So that's what those soft mouths are called._

"What brought that on?"

"Monteague and Melenis finally acknowledged things," Lantar said.

"Ah. I was wondering how long it would take them." Garrus smiled, his mandibles flicking out. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

 

The question was, Garrus thought, should they go charging in and try to take down the killer quickly? Or wait and watch, and try to figure out the bigger picture of what was going on and why?

Melenis's description of the area as "dregs" was accurate, Garrus decided. They almost blew the stakeout when a hungry vorcha leapt down from the rafters of the level, landing on Sensat's head and causing her to blow a hole in the floor from surprise. After her biotic aura faded, she kicked aside the vorcha's corpse and coolly suggested that they take a rest.

Garrus split the team up into smaller groups, and sent them to watch each of the mine entrances that Lantar had pointed out. "Trade off shifts," he said. "Keep in contact. If a vorcha breathes, I want to know about it." He designated a reserve team, sending them back to the base to take some downtime. They would trade off every six hours and were in charge of bringing food back for everyone when they came back on.

After three long and frustrating days, they were still no closer to an answer. Lantar's theory had proven correct, in a roundabout way: many people did go into those mine entrances, using them as a shortcut to get across the district. It was perfectly conceivable that their killer had used them. But it was impossible to weed anything suspicious out from the day-to-day traffic.

And then he received a call.

 

Kenn met them at the quarian center. "Thank you for coming," he said, and showed them in.

Garrus and Monteague once again sat around the table. There were a few other quarians about, someone making a strongly-scented tea that snuck in through the air filters in Garrus's helmet and tickled his nose.

"Yani's missing," Kenn said without any preamble.

After a moment of shock, Monteague asked, "When?"

"Yesterday evening. We were coming back to the district together and she said she'd left something at her shop." Kenn absently drew a design on the table's surface. "She didn't come back."

"Fuck," Garrus muttered. "We'd just called off stakeout that morning."

"Never mind that, boss," Monteague said. "No use worrying about it now. Kenn, we need the route you guys took, the location where you parted, and the location of her shop. And we need the exact time, if possible."

Kenn nodded listlessly. "I can do that."

 

Once again Sensat pulled up a visualization of the data. Everyone leaned in, studying the display.

"Definitely that thoroughfare," Ripper said. "Same one we were watching for three days."

"And close to that mine entrance," Weaver added.

Garrus scrubbed at his eyes. "It's too late to hope to catch them in the act. Yani went missing on my watch." He nodded to Sensat, who shut down the display. "We're going in there."

"Are there any maps of the mines themselves?" Sensat asked.

"I don't know," Garrus admitted. "We may have to map it ourselves. Get some sleep everyone, we're moving out in the morning."

 

Kenn offered to go. From the way Garrus grumbled, it sounded like Kenn had made a very convincing offer.

They split into teams. Ever since Lantar had recovered from the concussion, Garrus had kept him at his side. Kenn was with them too; Garrus wanted an eye on him. The quarian knew how to use a shotgun, but no one knew how the merchant would react under pressure.

This far beneath the surface of Omega, the usual sounds of the city were drowned out. Only the creak of old metal occasionally rent the air. Lantar soon became immune to the noises of the mines. Their footsteps did not echo, as if the dust of the place swallowed the sound.

All the mining infrastructure was constructed in perfect angles. Not a meter of space was wasted, and the place was surprisingly easy to navigate. Lantar kept his omnitool open as data from the other teams poured in, and they were able to build a map in real-time.

"This almost reminds me of home," Kenn said, his voice small in the caverns.

"The migrant fleet?" Garrus asked. "Yeah, this does seem well-ordered by Omega standards."

"That's because these mines were dug during the Unification Wars," Lantar said. Typical turian efficiency. "The more remote turian colonies made a fortune exporting eezo during the conflict. These mines have probably been abandoned for a millennium."

He could see the quarian shiver. "Are turian spirits inclined to haunt places like this?" he asked.

"You're thinking of human ghosts," Garrus said. "Spirits don't haunt."

Lantar mentally shrugged. "Let us know if you pick up anything on your visor, Garrus," he said.

They were probably fifteen minutes into the mine. Lantar glanced down. In the corner of his eye, he spotted an old elevator, presumably that led to the lower levels. A small light blinked on the side. "Garrus." He pointed. "There's power in here."

Garrus's head snapped over to where Lantar pointed. "That's strange," he muttered. "Nothing else in here is functioning."

"Let's check it out," said Kenn, drawing his shotgun and making his way over.

Garrus opened his com line. "Monteague, we're going to the lower levels. Be on standby in case we need backup."

"Sir."

Garrus hesitated before entering the elevator. He scanned the electrics with his omnitool, then turned on his helmet's light and looked up to inspect the rigging. "Everything looks clear," he said. They crowded in, and Lantar hit the control panel.

The elevator came to life and descended easily, the motion smooth and quiet. "Either turian engineering lasts for centuries," Kenn muttered, "or someone's been doing some maintenance."

A light appeared underneath the elevator car, and slowly rose to meet them. "Someone's definitely been here," Lantar said, and stopped the elevator. The doors opened, and they found themselves facing a well-lit tunnel.

"Ten credits we find Ripper's artist colony," Lantar muttered, and Garrus choked back a laugh. Guns out, they proceeded down the tunnel.

 

The tunnel opened up into what looked like a storage warehouse. The ceiling vanished into the gloom above them, but bright lights on the metal truss lit the floorspace. The room was filled with equipment. A central space housed rows of tables.

It looked like laboratory.

The tables—and whatever was on top of them—were all covered with sheets.

"Keelah," whispered Kenn as he gazed around. "Is this a _morgue?_ "

Garrus opened the com line. "Going to need that backup now."

"We'll get there as soon as we can," Monteague replied.

Garrus strode over to a table and pulled back the sheet. Under the sheet was a dead turian. The body's left arm had an IV line hooked up to an empty bag.

"Shit," muttered Garrus.

One by one, they moved down the row, uncovering a multitude of bodies. Some turian. Mostly quarian. The quarians were all in various stages of undress, some with the helmets removed, others with their torsos bared entirely.

Lantar had never had an idea of what a quarian looked like without the suit. The norm seemed to be shimmery skin in shades of purple, red, or grey. They had feathers too, on the head like humans' hair, extending down the back. The feathers were mottled in colors that matched the quarian's skintone.

They were really quite pretty.

They reached the end of the row and pulled back the sheet, revealing a familiar figure in a russet suit. Despite the helmet being removed, it was easily recognizable as Yani.

"Shit," Kenn said. "I'm sorry, I should've gone with you—"

"What are you doing here?" A voice interrupted them.

The three turned to see a female quarian in a deep purple suit, standing with a tray of surgical equipment. Lantar mentally cursed. He'd gotten so distracted by the sight of the bodies that he'd forgotten to keep an eye out.

"Kenn?" the quarian asked. "Where'd you come from?"

"I—" Kenn stuttered. "I didn't—Zel? It was _you?_ "

The quarian—Zel—set aside the tray. "Who are these people?"

"They—agreed to help out—never mind that, Zel—! You're telling me it was _you_ all along? Kidnapping our people? Killing them? Keelah, Zel—just—" Kenn's disbelief turned into an incoherent sputtering.

"So you're the one we've been looking for," Garrus said quietly. He pulled the sheet back over Yani's body and turned. "Of all the things I expected, it wasn't another quarian. You tend to be very close knit. But of course—that's how you knew where to find people, and how to take them quietly. I presume you rendered them unconscious first? I doubt you could've gotten consent, not with so many people vanishing and everyone on their guard."

"So you've come to stop me, I presume," Zel said. "There's no need for that, not anymore. I can admire that, going to an outsider for help." She turned to Kenn. "Must've taken some courage. How _did_ you manage to persuade Yani?"

"Well I won't know, now, will I," said Kenn. "Seeing as you killed her."

"It was necessary." Zel waved a hand at the line of bodies. "All this was necessary. A small sacrifice, compared to the number of lives I'm going to save."

"I've heard justifications like that before," Garrus said, slowly drawing his pistol and leveling it at her head. "The people who made them, they're dead now. And if you do the math, they destroyed much more than they saved."

"Wait—please—" Kenn put up a hand. "Zel—I just—why?"

"You were wrong, Kenn," Zel said, beginning to pace back and forth. "You've spent so long trying to get off Omega, to resume your Pilgrimage, that you assume there's nothing here that we can bring back. Whereas I—Omega was the proving ground for mine. The gift I bring back, it's going to change our lives for the better."

"What could be worth this?" Kenn asked, frantically gesturing at the bodies. "You've killed our own people, Zel! That can't be forgiven."

"This," Zel said quietly, and picked a syringe off the tray. She pulled the cap off, and stuck the needle into her arm.

And then she set the needle aside. And reached up and under her hood. Seals hissed as her hands worked. And then she pulled off her helmet's faceplate.

It wasn't just a trick of the light, Lantar realized. Quarian eyes actually did glow a faint purple.

"I've developed a fix," Zel said. "We won't need our suits anymore. We won't have to worry about disease. I've done it. We can live as we were meant to. It took some time—yes! And sacrifices—I needed access to quarian tissue, and dextro-amino acids from a species with an actual immune system—yes, Kenn, people needed to die! I had no other choice. But I did it."

Kenn backed away, shaking his head. "You're crazy," he whispered.

As Kenn backed down, Garrus stepped up. He'd holstered his pistol. "I'm curious," he said. " Just how effective _is_ your little black market cure?" He removed his own helmet and bent down, getting in Zel's face. She didn't flinch away, meeting his stare. And then Garrus coughed.

Zel burst into laughter. "You'll have to do better than that," she said. "I've been testing things for over a month!"

"So why are they dead? Why is _Yani_ dead? You only took her two days ago. Riddle me that, Zel." Garrus's voice remained calm and measured, like they were having a pleasant chat over tea.

Zel stepped back and primly sat on a chair. "Science isn't perfect. I did what I could."

Kenn shook his head. "I can't—believe—how could you be so _callous?_ " he roared suddenly.

Zel bent over, her shoulders shaking, as though laughing. It quickly turned into a coughing fit.

"Not as ready as you expected, I'd wager," Garrus said.

She was still coughing, and brought a hand up, clutching at her chest. "Just—a few—refinements—it'll be ready—soon."

"But not soon enough," Garrus said. "Not for you, at any rate."

Zel slumped over. "Fuck you." She slid onto the floor.

"You had a noble goal," Garrus told her. "I don't blame you for wanting it. But going as far as you did—there is nothing honorable in that. Keelah se'lai."

Zel looked up him, her eyes widening. "Keelah…se'lai," she replied, and fell back.

Kenn stared past Garrus. "You know what that means?" he asked quietly.

"No," Garrus said. "Tali said that to me when I left the _Normandy_. I assumed it was—"

"It means 'by the Homeworld'," Kenn said, "'By the Homeworld which I hope to see again.'"

"…Oh."

Pounding footsteps caught Lantar's ears, and he turned around. Monteague and his team were racing into the laboratory. "Sorry it took so long, boss."

Garrus turned around. "We're done here."

 

Kenn stayed behind, to do for the bodies. He offered a weary thanks to Garrus, who just shook his head and responded that if the quarians of Omega ever needed help, he and his team would be there.

At the end of a job, the team usually had dinner together and stayed up late having fun. Not tonight. Melenis and Monteague retired together, Ripper left to haunt one of her usual bars, and everyone else said their goodnights and went to bed.

Lantar took advantage of everyone's absence to grab a long shower, reveling in the feeling of washing off the dust from the mines. Most of the grime was mental, but the hot water helped nonetheless.

Garrus was scanning over something on a datapad when Lantar returned to their room. He reached for Lantar, but Lantar brushed him off and rolled over to the other side of the bed. "I'm really tired tonight," Lantar said.

"Oh. Ok." A pause. "Sleep well."

In truth, Lantar was afraid of the man who would kill with a casual cough. And he wasn't sure if that man was the Garrus he was in love with, or someone else entirely.


	17. Chapter 17

Garrus couldn't concentrate. He kept pulling up the message on his omnitool, his heart pounding, checking every time to make sure that the message was still there. That it was real. That he had found Sidonis at long last.

The message didn't vanish as he half expected it to. It stared him in the face each time: "I found the turian matching your description. He is on the Citadel. I believe he's trying to disappear; there's a black market specialist by the name of Fade who forges new identities for people. Your man was seen meeting with Fade's agents.

"Be warned; Fade is not to be crossed.  His thugs are nasty, and he somehow knows C-Sec regulations enough to dance through the loopholes. If you go after him, I can't help you."

Garrus had sent a thanks to his old colleague, along with the promise of a case of beer if the lead bore fruit. He spent the rest of his evening pacing through the battery, barely glancing at the gun console. He'd managed to get into contact with Fade and arranged a meeting. Now he would just have to persuade Shepard that they should take some leave at the Citadel.

In the meantime, his mind conjured up visions of his reunion with Sidonis. Most of them started with anger and ended with blood.

 

Shepard dropped into the battery that evening after dinner. "I'm glad you came by," he said, not even letting her get a word of greeting out. "I've found Sidonis. I may need your help."

She didn't agree immediately; that would've been too easy. "What do you plan to do when you find him?" she asked.

"You humans have a saying." He looked down, caught her eyes, and held them. "An eye for an eye. A life for a life. He owes me ten lives, and I'm going to collect."

"Is this really what you want?" she asked.

Garrus wanted to shake her. "I don't need you to agree with me," he said, hoping that he could impress upon her how important this was. "But I want your help."

She sighed, and dropped her gaze. "Ok," she said. "Where do we go?"

"He contacted a criminal called Fade. I've arranged to meet Fade on the Citadel."

Shepard nodded. "All right. Thane Krios also has business on the Citadel. We can make a quick stop."

She turned to go, but he reached out and caught her shoulder. "Thank you," he said. "You have no idea what this means to me."

 

Shepard was afraid that she knew all too well what it meant to him. And she was afraid for her friend.

* * *

They never did find a way to break the Blue Sun's protection scheme, but the intel obtained was still put to good use. They knew the ins and outs of the Sun's network on Omega, and started picking away at it.

The attacks over the months eventually culminated in an assault on one of the Sun's bases.

"We split into three teams," Garrus explained. "First team is going to set off an alarm and use the opportunity to download information on upcoming shipments. Second team will head for the hangars, and disable as many vehicles as possible. Third team gets to take down the men they send out as a result of the alarm.

"If this goes well, it'll cripple the majority of their operations. Loss of men and vehicles will slow them down, and the intel we get will allow us to harass them further in the future. Even if one of the teams can't complete their objective, we'll still gain something in the process."

They reviewed the groundplan of the merc base. They pored over contingencies for hours. Downtime was spent sorting heatsinks and cleaning weapons.

It was going to be a night to remember.

 

In reality, it turned into one big headache.

Everything at the time was quiet, Lantar remembered. The plan seemed to be proceeding perfectly. He, Butler, and Weaver were in charge of the alarm and the data. The alarm went off without a hitch, and there were shouts in the halls as the Suns in residence proceeded to battlestations, where they were met with the third Archangel team. Gunfire echoed into the Omega night.

Weaver set up a download as he and Butler kept watch. Com chatter flowed through their helmets: Melenis was gushing about the nice ships the Suns kept in the hangar, asking Garrus permission to steal one, which was denied. Ripper and Monteague were keeping a running total as they sniped Suns from a building across the street. Mierin went through shipping crates in the hangar, exclaiming when she found a cache of fancy ammo and medical supplies.

And then Weaver picked up the signal.

"Boss, I'm reading a radio signal that doesn't match any the Suns use."

"Where's it coming from?"

"Somewhere close by, but outside of the base." She paused and fiddled with her omnitool. "I think…crap. Boss, we need to evacuate now. This type of signal is used for remote detonation of high-powered explosives."

The sound of gunfire rang through their helmets. "Teams one and two, withdraw now!" Garrus called. "We'll lay down cover fire, but you need to drop everything and get out of there as soon as possible."

"Someone's trying to blow the Suns base?" said Butler as Weaver killed her download and disconnected from the Suns computer.

"Looks like it," she said grimly. "Come on."

Lantar poked his head out into the corridor, but it was empty. They ran for the exit. "I'm counting ten seconds to detonation!" Weaver called, her eyes flickering as numbers ran across her omnitool's display. "Mel, are you guys ok?"

"Almost out—!"

Lantar skidded to a stop as a figure backed out of one of the side rooms. The figure's head turned, and as soon as Lantar's mind registered _batarian_ he drew his pistol and fired. The batarian fell to the ground, clutching his arm, and Lantar simply jumped over him in his scramble to reach the exit. He could hear shouting coming from behind him.

The three burst out into the street, and ran for the alleyway that was the rendezvous point. "Two—one—" Weaver counted.

For a second, nothing happened.

And then there was a vibration that shook the ground, a loud thump, and the Blue Sun's base collapsed in a pile of rubble and smoke.

"Fucking hell—" someone swore over com.

After a few moments, Garrus's voice came through. "We're clear. I don't think there's any Suns still alive. Team one, two, status?"

"We're clear," said Butler.

"And so are we," Mierin's voice said. "Making our way to the rendezvous now."

 

After some time to get out of armor, change, and shower, everyone met up down in the greatroom.

"I'll say it first," said Butler. "What the hell was that?"

"Before we do that," Garrus said, "how did everyone's respective goals go?"

"I managed to get a decent amount of data," said Weaver, "even with the interruption."

Melenis reached into her pockets and hauled out an astonishing number of engine parts. "They're not going anywhere anytime soon," she said with a grin, "but I got some toys out of it."

"I also retrieved a good amount of general supplies," Mierin added. "We'll be well-stocked for the future."

Monteague and Ripper fist-bumped. "Twenty six," Ripper said.

Monteague sighed. "You beat me. And no—" he started as Sensat opened her mouth, "kills by biotic warp don't count."

"Sounds like everything went well, then," Garrus said. "Now: what the hell was that?"

A sudden beep sounded in the room. Mierin pulled out her omnitool. "I have to go," she said. "There's a trauma emergency down at the clinic."

"Hope it's not a Sun that got away," Butler said.

Ripper grinned. "Ain't _none_ got away."

"And on the subject of ' _what the hell was that…'_ " Melenis said.

"Right. Weaver: what the hell was that?"

"It was very professional," she said, adjusting her headscarf. "Someone used a radio signal to detonate a number of explosives. The radio channel was encrypted; the only reason I recognized that type of signal was because I saw it during the Skyllian Blitz. From the looks of it, the explosives were arranged to take the building down much the way a demolition crew would do it. Someone was targeting the Suns. Someone who knows what they're doing. It was only bad luck that we got in the middle of it."

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"Get some sleep, everyone," Garrus eventually said. "We finished our mission, and thanks to that explosion, accomplished more than we'd planned."

 

Garrus grinned. "I like knowing that someone else bears the Blue Suns a grudge. And I also like knowing that despite someone else's grudges, _we_ got all the kills tonight."

"What else do you like?" Lantar asked, tossing Garrus down on the bed and pulling open his shirt.

"I like post-battle sex," Garrus admitted. "It's a good way to end a mission."

"Shooting people turns you on?"

"Not that so much...just the rush. Knowing that there's nothing standing between you and a bullet in the skull except your gun and your aim. Why?" He grabbed Lantar and pulled him down on top. "What turns you on?"

"Seeing you turned on." They grappled for a few minutes, flipping each other over and over, slowly shedding clothing as they went.

They usually had a routine: Lantar preferred to be on top, but he wouldn't do so from behind; he wanted to see Garrus's face. Garrus was the more experimental one; Lantar preferred the comfort of familiarity. Which was why Garrus was taken off guard when Lantar just lay underneath him instead of flipping him back over. "I want you," Lantar said. "I want you in me."

Garrus caught his breath, gazing down at his lover. "I thought you hated—"

"I want to try it," Lantar said. "With you."

And it amazed Garrus, as it always did, that he had earned that kind of trust.

 

Mierin wasn't back in the morning. Lantar made breakfast for the turians, while everyone else scrounged up their own food. Butler nipped out the door, calling "Be back later!" Presumably to see Nalah, Garrus thought; her pregnancy was getting on and there were only a few weeks remaining until she was due.

Weaver and Monteague argued over the proper way to cook eggs. It was an argument Ripper stayed out of. "Just add enough salt and it's good enough for me," she said with a shrug.

Mierin walked in as everyone was eating, a salarian in tow. The morning chatter stopped and everyone looked up at the visitor.

"Boss," Mierin said, "I have someone you should meet."

Garrus stood, pushing in his chair. "Is this related to your emergency last night?"

"Yes," Mierin said. "This is Krul. He's the one behind the bombing of the Sun's base."

The atmosphere in the room turned tense. No doubt hands were drifting to pistols.

"It's ok," Mierin said. She turned to the salarian. "Just tell them what you told me."

The salarian hesitated, his hands fidgeting. "I've been after the Blue Suns for a few months now," he eventually said, not meeting Garrus's eyes.

"What did they do to you?" Garrus asked.

"They exist," Krul said sharply. "They exist, and they wreck havoc on the galaxy. They're too dangerous to be left to operate."

"So you're trying to take out their infrastructure?"

"I'm trained in explosives and espionage," Krul said. "I'm going about this the only way I know how."

"Did Mierin tell you who we are?"

"I know who you are," said the salarian.

"I think we might be able to help each other out," Garrus said.

"I agree."

"You sound hesitant."

The salarian finally lifted his head and looked Garrus in the eye. "I have a partner," he said. "He goes with me. Without him, any deal we make is off."

"Why would we not accept your partner?"

"He's a batarian."

Garrus heard the reaction from his team. Someone inhaled sharply, another tapped fingers on the table. "As long as your partner abides by our rules and doesn't cause trouble, he is welcome here," Garrus said, hoping that his team would accept it. "Anyone who wants to fight the injustice on Omega is welcome."

Krul nodded once, and stuck out his hand. "The asari already introduced me," he said.

Garrus shook his hand. "Garrus Vakarian. Good to meet you."

 

Krul's partner was the reason Mierin had been called in late last night. He was stable enough to be moved, so she took the old skycar and brought him back from the clinic. Krul went with her.

The batarian limped into the base, Krul's arm wrapped around him, supporting him. His arm was bound in a sling, and his face was bruised badly. "Sit," Mierin ordered. "I need to check your arm."

The greatroom was nearly empty. Weaver had cleared out first, a hard look on her face, and the others had followed. Garrus stayed, mentally composing the talk he planned to give the team later. He figured that humans would be the most trouble, given the Allience's history with batarians, but the others might have some grudges as well.

As far as Garrus was concerned, Krul's partner would be just another member of the team. His time on the _Normandy_ kept him from passing judgement. If he could end up as brothers-in-arms with a krogan mercenary, then anything was possible.

Mierin pulled off the sling and Garrus winced at the sight of the batarian's arm. "What happened?" he asked.

Krul shifted around. "He was inside the building. Someone shot him, and I couldn't get him out before the collapse."

Lantar suddenly spoke. "I'm sorry," he said. "We weren't expecting anyone else—I thought you were a Blue Sun—"

"You're the one who shot him?" Krul demanded, rounding on Lantar.

"I didn't know," Lantar said. "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do—"

"Mierin will fix it up," Garrus said. "No harm done." He shot a look to Lantar, who nodded.

Krul reluctantly backed away. "I'll do what I can," Mierin said, "but no promises. The bone splintered when the bullet hit it. We cleaned things out as best we could, but there's still swelling and I think there might be some fragments still in there—"

"What? You missed something? I was reassured—"

"Grundan." The batarian spoke for the first time. "Back off, and let the lady work." His facial expression did not change as Mierin dug in his skin with a pair of forceps.

Amazingly, Krul shut his mouth and plopped down on a nearby couch. His face was pale and his eyes blinked rapidly.

Garrus admired the batarian's stoicism; he had to be in a lot of pain, but he didn't let it show. "Lantar," he murmured, "why don't you go upstairs and ask everyone what they want for lunch." Lantar nodded, and headed for the stairs.

"You have everything you need, Mierin?" Garrus asked, cutting through the silence.

"You know where I keep my stock of painkillers," she said. "I need the red container. That should help with the swelling as well."

By the time he returned with the drugs, Mierin had finished and was patching the incisions in the batarian's arm. "Thanks," she said.

Lantar returned. "The consensus was takeaway," he said. "I'll be back in a while."

Garrus turned to the batarian as Mierin measured out drugs. "I never got your name," he said.

The batarian turned those four black eyes to him. "Erash."

 

The conversation over lunch was relatively muted. Garrus kept sneaking glances at their new team members. Erash merely picked at his food, and Krul didn't eat for fidgeting.

"Everyone lives here, for the most part," Garrus explained to them. "We've got procedures for making sure that we're not followed back to the base, and I've got a lot of security built in as well. There're still a few rooms left upstairs, so you can choose which ones you want."

Krul looked up at him. "We stay together," he said.

"Ok, well," Garrus paused to think. "We can always move beds around, squeeze two into a room—"

"One bed is fine," the salarian said. He stood. "We should get some rest."

"Of course."

They stood and made their way upstairs, Erash leaning on Krul's side.

Everyone stared. And then started talking at once.

"Did he say that—?"

"Are they—?"

"You think those two—?"

It was Butler who said what they were all thinking: "Do salarians even _fuck?_ "

 

They took a quiet night, lounging around the base. Nalah brought a tin of sweets for the levo team members, and a package of baked pudding for the turians. It wasn't anything like homemade, Lantar decided, but it had been too long since he'd tasted something that good.

He was still amazed at how _big_ pregnant humans got. A name had been picked out: Imani. And now they were just awaiting her arrival. Besides Nalah and Butler, Melenis was probably the one most excited.

Erash and Krul usually kept to themselves, but they'd come down to join in. Lantar tried to engage them in conversation, but it didn't go very far. Erash's arm was healing well. Lantar apologized again as he handed Erash one of the levo sweets (cookies, Nalah called them).

Erash's sleeve fell away from his wrist as he took the sweet, and Lantar caught a glimpse of the Blue Suns insignia. He knew that gang members wore a tattoo, but this wasn't a tattoo. This was any ugly scar, the flesh raised. A brand? Erash saw him looking, and quickly pulled his sleeve down.

"It's not what you're thinking," he said as he took the cookie.

"I wasn't thinking anything," Lantar said. Across the table, Ripper and Melenis were quizzing Krul on his explosives knowledge. After a while, the salarian warmed up, and went into a rundown of improvised bombs.

"I was never part of the Suns," Erash said.

"I only took that shot because I didn't expect anyone but Suns to be in the base," Lantar said.

Erash shrugged, as much as he could with his bad arm. "I know how people look at batarians. It's only natural."

"I don't have a problem with your people," Lantar said, knowing that it sounded weak.

"You should," Erash said. "I was never part of the Blue Suns. I was sold by them."

"You were a slave?"

"Yes."

"Spirits," Lantar said. "I—didn't realize that batarians—"

"Enslave their own? It's an old practice. You're born into it. You die in it."

"But you—"

"I escaped. Most don't." He glanced around the table, at everyone talking and laughing and sharing the sweets. "It's a brutal custom. The children of Kar'Shan should be better than that. But we're not, and nobody expects us to be. Everyone expects us to be bastards. It's a vicious circle."

Lantar drummed his talons on the table. "Garrus knew a krogan warlord. Apparently he said much the same thing."

Erash snorted. "Here's to mass stupidity."

Lantar nabbed the tin of cookies. "I'll toast to that," he said, passing the tin to Erash.

Across the table, Krul was being scrutinized by several team members. "'Krul' spelled backwards is 'Lurk'", Butler said helpfully.

"It is not—in what language?" the salarian sputtered.

Monteague shrugged. "English."

"Can we call you Lurk?" Ripper asked.

"It fits with your talents," Mel added.

"I—"

Erash handed his partner a cookie. "It does suit you," he said.

And the newly-dubbed Lurk took the cookie and did not utter a single complaint about this development.

 

Imani Butler was born a few weeks later. The team planned a nice dinner to welcome the new arrival.

She was adorable, Lantar had to admit, even knowing nothing about baby humans. She had dark skin like her parents, wide brown eyes, and a patch of fuzz on her head. Nalah let Mel hold her, and Mel refused to give her back for several hours. At one point, Imani made a funny gurgling noise, and grabbed Mel's mandible and held it tightly. Everyone burst into laughter.

Mel did eventually have to give the baby up, and they sat down to eat. They laughed and joked, and passed around plates of food.  

After dinner, everyone pitched in to clean up. Nalah, intent on wrapping up the leftovers, thrust Imani into Lantar's arms. "Hold her a bit," she said. She laughed at the alarmed look on Lantar's face. "It's ok. Just support her neck and head and you'll be fine."

Lantar carefully arranged the child in his arms, and plopped down on the couch. Imani began to fuss, wanting her mother. Lantar, at a loss for what to do, hugged her closely and began purring. After a while, she calmed down.

Garrus woke him up later. The lights were dim, and the greatroom was empty. "How long did I sleep?" Lantar asked.

"An hour or so. Imani fell asleep in your arms. You guys were cute together." Garrus grinned and tapped his wrist. "I have video."

"You better show that to me. I want proof."

"I'll play it for everyone tomorrow." Garrus stretched out a hand to him. "Call it a night?"

Lantar grabbed the hand and allowed Garrus to pull him up from the couch. "It was a nice night."

 

The month continued, full of nice nights like that one. They hunkered down, giving Butler time to spend with Nalah and Imani, giving the rest of them time to relax and just enjoy life. Gang activity on Omega was at a lull, the results of Archangel's long campaigns.

The Archangel team had money. They had their friends. And for the first time in so many years, Lantar Sidonis actually looked forward to living.

The quiet was shattered one night when Lantar received a message.

_I need help. My coordinates are attached. Be careful, there's Blood Pack activity in the streets._

_Bring Mierin_.

Garrus was the only one out that night.

Ice dropped into Lantar's stomach. Bringing Mierin meant that wherever he was, Garrus was injured somehow. And Blood Pack—shit, had he really managed to piss them off? Lantar remembered his last encounter with the Pack. The only good thing about it was that he'd met Garrus.

He grabbed Mierin, tossed her the keys to the skycar, and put up a map on his omnitool. They didn't speak as the skycar rushed through the night, Mierin's hand gentle but insistent on the controls.

The coordinates led them to the outer slums, right at the edge of Omega's atmosphere. Mierin guided the skycar down under a building's overhang, and cut the power. Together, they slipped through the skeletons of desiccated buildings, staying above the streets. Below them, vorcha darted to and fro, scenting the air, their growls cutting the heavy silence.

"This is it," Lantar whispered as they neared a towering skyscraper. It had to be. The coordinates indicated one of the upper floors. Lantar managed to pry open a window, and they crept in. Surprisingly, there was still power to the door locks and the elevator, and they were able to reach the top floor quickly.

Lantar opened the door to the penthouse apartment. The place was long since abandoned; there was no furniture and the dust lay in a heavy carpet. Against the far wall, Garrus lay in a heap of armor.

"Garrus." Lantar's heart pounded as he rushed over, Mierin behind him. He dropped down beside Garrus's prone figure, and carefully turned him over. _No…please…anything but this…_ He lifted off Garrus's helmet, checking for signs of head injury. _I can't go through this again._

Garrus's eyes flickered open. "You got my message."

"Is your head ok? Can you remember everything?"

Garrus nodded, wincing at the motion. Blood trickled from his mandibles. A rush of relief flooded Lantar. "Spirits," he whispered.

"I can…barely move," Garrus said. "Help me get this armor off. Those vorcha—" He lifted an arm and hissed in pain. "They really can bite when they want to."

"Here." Mierin knelt down beside them. She helped Lantar lift Garrus, putting him on his back. Together, they carefully removed the hard armor shell, Lantar trying not to look at the dents in its surface.

Soon, Mierin was at work, her hands steady as she carefully patched up Garrus's wounds, stitching and resetting plates that had moved out of position. Lantar cradled Garrus's head in his lap, stroking his fringe and purring softly.

"What happened, boss?" Mierin asked after a while.

Garrus squeezed his eyes shut as she disinfected another wound. "Caught…Garm on his own. Figured it was too good a chance to pass up. And then he called in backup."

Lantar stopped purring. Garrus had tried to take down the _leader of Blood Pack_ on his own? "Fuck you, you could've died," he said hoarsely.

"It's ok, Lantar."

"It's not." He bent over and glared at Garrus. "That was reckless and you know it. You could've died out here, and none of us would've known what happened." _I wouldn't've known what happened_. "I can't lose you like that."

"I'm sorry," Garrus whispered.

"And you of all people should know better! What it's like to lose someone and not be able to be there to help them—" It was a low blow, invoking his loss of Shepard, but Garrus was being an idiot if he thought he was the only one who had gone through such pain. "You're not the only one who's lost a loved one," he finished. "So fuck you for not thinking."

Garrus keened softly. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," Mierin said. "Let's just focus on getting you fixed up enough to get you out of here."

They stayed quiet after that, but Mierin's hands had a slight tremble to them.

Finally, Mierin left to grab the skycar and bring it closer. Lantar ignored Garrus's protests that he could walk, "sort of—", and picked him up, cradling him like a baby in his arms. Mierin parked on a balcony and Lantar stuffed Garrus in the back, and they were off.

A snore from the backseat of the car startled him, and Lantar turned around. Garrus had fallen into a fitful sleep.

"You really love him, don't you," Mierin said quietly.

He turned back and stared out the windshield at the glowing red night. "Yeah."

"We weren't sure for a while," she said. "I mean, it's not like you guys are very…forthcoming with romantic gestures."

He shrugged. "So we're not as public as Monteague and Mel." That was him, in a way; Lantar was uncomfortable showing emotion when he wasn't in private. "Doesn't mean that it's not there." He glanced at her; she was smiling. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I got good odds on that one, though. I have some credits coming my way."

Lantar rolled his eyes. "Of course you guys take bets on the nature of our relationship. You take bets on everything else." He paused. "Isn't it cheating to ask me?"

"It was never stipulated in the rules," Mierin said, her smile growing broader.

Later that night, Lantar sat on his bed with Garrus lying next to him. Garrus had woken up when they got back to the base, and didn't protest Lantar carrying him in.

"You ever think that there could be more than this?" Lantar asked, petting Garrus's fringe.

Garrus rolled over and looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"We have options now. We have money. We could just leave this shitty hunk of rock and never look back. We could settle somewhere else, live as though we aren't at war." He looked down at Garrus, who was wearing a frown. "We could have a future."

"And leave behind everything we've built here?" Garrus asked. "Leave the gangs to get strong and terrorize Omega again?"

"We've done enough," Lantar whispered. "It'll take a while for the gangs to recover. It's just—I don't see an end to this. We're never going to be done fighting this war."

"Which is why it's important to fight it."

"But we're going to die fighting it, sooner or later. Garrus, you could've died tonight. Don't you want to be done with it?"

" _No_ ," Garrus whispered, a fervor burning in his face. "We're not going to make a difference if we just pack up and leave. And what about everyone else? What about the team?"

"They could have futures too. Butler and his family. Melenis and Monteague—"

He lay down, and wrapped an arm around Garrus. "There's more to life than fighting. And we could have a life. Together."

Garrus turned away from him. "We're not going to stop."

There was silence for a few minutes. Garrus's words churned in Lantar's mind. Did Garrus not want a future? Or could he not see that there was one to be had?

"Who'd you lose?" Garrus asked eventually. "You said—you lost someone."

"Oh." It wasn't a subject he liked thinking about. "My brother."

Garrus turned back to him and relaxed into his embrace. "I'm sorry."

In response, he just pulled Garrus closer to him, careful not to aggravate his wounds. "I don't want to see that happen to anyone ever again," he whispered. "I'm not a soldier, Garrus. I can't deal with fighting wars, day in and day out. I'm not brave like that. I can't face the idea of people getting hurt, or dying."

 "You're braver than you think," Garrus murmured against his neck.

 _No I'm not,_ he wanted to say. But it wasn't going to convince Garrus.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Work and sickness didn't manage to kill me. I hope y'all had a better December than I did. 
> 
> This is the last chapter of Part Two. Updates should continue regularly. Only three more chapters until this story is done. Thank you all for reading!

> "It wasn't enough for me to make things better on Omega—I wanted to _purge_ it. My own feelings got in the way. Blinded me. I couldn't see the cracks in the seams."
> 
> _—Mass Effect: Homeworlds 3_

He couldn't sleep.

His face itched.

The pain had been replaced by a deep, insistent itch. He'd been resisting the urge to scratch it all day, aware of the damage he could do to the still-healing flesh, but now, when he was half asleep, he scratched his face without thinking.

His bare talons ripped into the bandage, and he could feel the warm flesh beneath. For a moment, the itch receded, but as soon as he stopped, it came back in full force.

_Fuck this_ , he thought as he scratched harder, hard enough to make him wince in pain, his face now burning. And then he felt the blood under his fingers.

Shit. Garrus sat up, his hand now pressed to his face to try and keep the blood from dripping on the floor. He got up, slightly dizzy, and staggered his way to the bathroom. No one was around during the dead hours of the night. The lights were dim, and the bathroom was empty.

He slowly peeled the ripped bandage away from his face. He bent down, turned on the water, and scrubbed the blood away. He'd have Doctor Chakwas redo the bandage tomorrow, provided he could get it to stop bleeding.

Garrus stared into the mirror, trying to assess the damage. His mandible was pitted and had small chunks missing, and the rest of the skin was forming into ropey scar tissue. It looked disgusting, he thought, and even though he'd stayed lighthearted and joked with Shepard about krogan women and their penchant for scars, he was still bitterly aware that he'd been handsome once.

Now, he thought, his face reflected how he was feeling, day in and day out. Furious. Ugly. And now that they were actually on their way to the Citadel, and Sidonis was this much closer to his grasp, some of the bitterness had turned mocking and resentful. _Forget saving anyone. All you can do is destroy things._

His life had fallen apart as surely has his face had. And just like Cerberus couldn't hide Shepard's scars from her resurrection, neither could he hide the scars from his own mistakes.

_How did I not see it coming? Was it money? Was it an out? What did you sell us for, Lantar? And why couldn't I stop you?_

Just one more. One more death, that was all he needed. He would wipe things clean, then stand by Shepard's side as they marched to their own deaths. And he would die doing something good—maybe not enough to make up for all the hurt he'd seen and couldn't prevent, but just a little something would be enough.

* * *

Garrus slammed his hands on the table. "I've been ignoring Blood Pack too long. Just because they aren't the usual sort of criminals. That changes now."

The team nodded. Lantar turned his back and stared at his plants. They were starting to take over the kitchen and the greatroom was looking like a bit of a jungle.

He didn't like this new Garrus.

An alarm went off, and Melenis jumped up and scurried for the basement. "Lurk, you coming?"

In a shot, the salarian hopped out of his seat and followed her, Erash trailing in his wake.

The more technical-minded team members had been cooking up something in the basement for a few days now. Whatever it was, some of the assembly process was apparently time-sensitive.

"As of today," Garrus continued, ignoring the missing team members, "we are at war with the gangs. We are stepping it up. We are going to hit them on all fronts. No breaks. No mercy. I said that we were going to run them off Omega, and I wasn’t joking. We start today."

Ever since he'd recovered from the beating Garm gave him, Garrus had been restless and downright reckless. Lurk's skill with explosives and Erash's unnatural skills with technology had taken their tactics to the next level. Lantar's nightmares were stained with blood and bad memories, and if anyone took a hit, he made sure that their helmet was immediately replaced.

And then there was the new team member, Vortash. An extremely talkative salarian biotic, Lantar quickly figured out that for all his talk, he had nothing to say. Garrus speculated that Vortash had been some kind of intelligence agent, but why he was on Omega no one knew.

The team was twelve strong now, and Garrus wielded them as a deadly weapon. Rumors circulated among the gangs of Archangel having a small army, and there was genuine fear wafting from the criminal elements on Omega.

And Lantar was scared of what Garrus was becoming.

None of the other team members shared his concern. Melenis had murder in her eyes whenever they crossed the Blue Suns, and spent the rest of her time in the basement. Butler was busy with Imani; the tiny human was growing quickly and becoming more cute and demanding by the day. Weaver was more concerned with avoiding Erash; her face turned hard whenever she and the batarian had to work together, which considering their specialties, was often. Erash and Lurk spent most of their time working quietly, or twined up together and asleep on Lantar's favorite couch. He admired whatever quiet relationship they had.

Garrus, for his part, grew more unyielding every day. Their rule about no civilian casualties still held, but the missions themselves were becoming more brutal than ever. Garrus seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the suffering of their merc targets, and killed a krogan drug dealer slowly, making sure that every injury was felt.

Privately, Lantar was sure that Garrus was becoming suicidal. Not in a way that he might harm himself, but in a seeking-a-glorious-death-by-merc sort of way. It had been a few years since Lantar had last felt like killing himself, but he remembered the helplessness all too well. He didn't know how to help Garrus. All he could do was keep a close eye on his lover's back.

In between missions, Lantar retreated to his plants. If they lived by destroying things, he could at least take comfort in the idea that something could grow.

 

Weaver tossed a datapad onto the table. "The Blue Suns have been sending in heavy reinforcements from off Omega."

"They've lost too many people here," Monteague said. "Omega is a major base of operations. They need people to staff it."

"Their leader on Omega is Tarak," Sensat said. "He's canny. He knows he can't maintain his operations with this level of losses."

"That's not all," said Weaver. "Weapons shipments across all the major gangs are increasing, and higher level troops are being sent in. They're gearing up for war. War with us."

"Sensat, what's their current level of preparation as compared to recent months?"

"They're still running behind on numbers," the asari said. "They're still weakened. But not for long."

Garrus had been silent for the whole conversation. "This is when we strike, then," he said slowly. "But not like have before. This time, we're going to decapitate the Sun's leadership."

"We're going after Tarak?"

"We are going after Tarak. We are going after his advisors. We are going to take out the top levels of Suns command."

"It'll take them ages to recover," Ripper said in an awed voice.

Lurk spoke up for the first time. "And I know just the way."

It turned out that the project in the basement was bombs. A lot of bombs.

Soon enough, all of the Suns lower lieutenants were dead. Picked off as they went about their business in the streets of Omega. Garrus left their corpses out in the open, a warning.

Next, a series of bombing campaigns on Suns bases. Tarak quickly sent out orders (intercepted by Weaver) to withdraw all his top commanders back to his headquarters. Tarak operated out of one of Omega's tall skyscrapers. The penthouse he occupied was so far up that it brushed the border between Omega's artificial atmosphere and the vacuum of space. The Archangel team invested several weeks of recon into the skyscraper. It was well defended, but they put their heads together into the nights and Garrus finally called for the op to go ahead.

Lantar didn't pay attention through any of the planning process. Garrus would spend the nights hunched over the terminal in their room. Lantar kicked Erash and Lurk off of his favorite couch and took to sleeping downstairs.

He would turn his head away when their bombs went off, ignore the blasts that shuddered though his bones, let the sound of each gunshot pass through his head. His days became a waking dream.

He hadn't touched Garrus in weeks. Considering how easily they usually reached out for each other, the absence was disturbing. He wondered if Garrus even noticed.

 

Lantar snapped out of his trance when Garrus said his name. "What?"

"I know it sounds crazy. But the Suns know me; they know my armor," Garrus said, taking Lantar's question as one of disbelief. "They fear me. I can't be in the building for this op, but I want Tarak to know who took him down. We're a similar height and build. It'll be perfect, and no one will ever have to know."

"I—"

"You can try my armor on later, I doubt we'll have to play with it much to get to fit you."

Lantar sank down in his chair. _Spirits._

 

Wearing Garrus's armor was a strange sensation. It was heavier than his own, and a little slower and more controlled in its movements, yes, but seeing everything from behind Garrus's helmet, breathing in his scent—there was a feeling of pensiveness to the whole thing.

Lantar stood as Garrus made his adjustments. He wasn't quite as slender through the waist—that was easy to fix. His mental state wasn't as easy to adapt. He flexed his fingers against the handle of his pistol, craned his neck, noticing that his movement seemed floatier, almost. Like the whole thing was a dream.

Seeing Garrus don a simple black suit, heft his sniper rifle onto his back, and head off with Melenis in the skycar—that too was like a dream.

They moved through the Omega night, red and shadowed, and split up. Monteague and Sensat stuck to Lantar's back, ostensibly following the leader of Archangel. Lantar could see the skycar hovering against the black of open space. The rest of the team broke off at designated points, to sweep different areas of Tarak's headquarters, to set up the technology needed for the mission, and to keep Tarak's forces busy.

Muffled gunfire popped around the corners as Lantar and his backup swept along the route that had been mapped out from them. Occasionally, a bomb blast from another area was heard, and Lantar's ears eventually started ringing.

_I can't do this anymore,_ he thought as he pulled the trigger and took down a merc popping up from behind cover. _I'm not a soldier, I can't look death in the eye like this._

They moved further up the levels, and Sensat's biotics sent mercs flying through the air and into walls. More gunfire sounded, and a window shattered. The skycar lingered for a second, then sped off, leaving broken glass and corpses behind.

_What was the point of this to begin with? To help people?_

_Because I don't see it. Not anymore._

Outside the windows of the skyscraper, the Omega traffic glinted in the darkness.

_I trust him, don't I?_

"On your ten." Monteague's voice sounded in his com. Lantar turned and fired, taking out a Suns engineer who was repairing a turret.

_I_ love _him, don't I?_

Before there was all this, the bombs and the gangs and the elaborate plans— _and their friends_ —and war—

He'd run away to Omega to avoid his disgrace, to avoid his family, to avoid the stigma of cowardice that would haunt him the rest of his life if he'd remained with the Hierarchy. He'd come to forget their faces, his squadmates who'd died without him. And now, just when he'd stumbled into a new family, he'd been thrown back into war. Again. By one he loved.

_How much longer can I take this?_

How many floors did they have left to go? Tarak lived at the top of the skyscraper, right where the atmosphere met empty space. Lantar couldn't keep track of the floors, couldn't keep track of time. Couldn't keep track of his own footsteps in the foreign sensation of Garrus's armor.

"Archangel!" A shout came, and Lantar followed the sound and fired.

Was this how Garrus felt all the time? Wearing the literal hopes and fears of Omega on his back, gliding through combat in the heavy blue armor—known not as himself, but as the name of something bigger? Lantar found it terrifying. It was like Garrus and Archangel were two different people and right now he was not wearing Garrus's armor, but Archangel's.

Maybe that was why his lover and best friend was scaring him so much lately.

_I never wanted this._

"Elevator," Sensat said, and a moment later the elevator dinged and they crowded inside. There was a swooping feeling in Lantar's stomach as they soared upwards. To Tarak.

_I don't know if I love him anymore._

The elevator doors opened on the penthouse.

Monteague and Sensat fanned out behind him as they carefully made their way in. There were no more troops, no more traps. Nothing waiting for them.

Lantar opened a door, revealing Tarak's bedroom.

The bed was empty.

A hologram flickered into being, a batarian in Blue Suns armor with a smug face. "Congratulations, Archangel," it said. "My lieutenant was sure you wouldn't get this far. Rest assured, she is no longer working for me."

"What—" Monteague started, but the broadcast continued.

"And now that you're here, I've prepared a little something. Oh I wish you could be there when I tell Garm and Jaroth that I've taken out the Archangel of Omega. Well, your corpse might be on display for them. Depends on how well you deal with…this."

Panels behind the bed flew open, revealing elite Suns troops. A burst of fire accompanied them.

"They've got Firestorms!" Monteague roared as Lantar jumped back and stumbled. Sensat's biotic barrier held off the flame for a few moments, but was quickly overwhelmed. "We need evac, now! Tarak's not here, it's a trap!"

Lantar's helmet filters closed, muffling his breathing and keeping the heat out. _Shit. Shit shit shit._

A sound buzzed in his helmet com, and he could dimly make out the words "Take cover!" Rapid gunfire shattered the windows of the bedroom, and a hideous rushing noise drowned out all sound as the air vented out into the thin atmosphere.

As if on cue, Monteague and Sensat each grabbed Lantar's arms and dove out the window.

_So this is how I die_.

He twisted in midair as they fell, the shards of glass from the window catching the light from below. Time seemed to slow as his breathing accelerated.

_I don't want to die._

_But I didn't want to live like this either. Guess I don't have a choice anymore._ He could hear his heartbeat thumping in his eardrums, the gravity of the asteroid tugging at him and pulling them inexorably downward.

And then he felt the air tremble as the skycar pulled up beneath them, its doors open, and they fell in a heap against the seats.

He tried to take the scene in. Garrus was at the door, pulling it shut, barking orders to Mel, whose hands were clenched on the controls. "Go! Go!" he heard, as the skycar righted itself and dove downward.

And they swooped away into the Omega night.

 

As soon as they got back to base, Melenis lost it, punching the skycar controls. She screamed wordlessly, and stood up only to kick aside a toolbox.

Lantar wrenched off Garrus's helmet and held it in his lap, panting, trying to get the smell of smoke out of lungs and the dizziness out of his skull. All the while Mel raged. Monteague got out of the backseat and carefully wrapped his arms around her, murmuring and whispering and shushing. Eventually her screams devolved into sobs.

Garrus only holstered his rifle onto his back and made his way up to the greatroom. Lantar took the helmet and followed. The rest of the team was up there, silently maintaining weapons and sorting aside the debris of the raid. Garrus quickly vanished upstairs without a word. Lurk sat on the couch and cradled Erash, who was staring into space.

Lantar quickly stripped off Garrus's armor and piled it on the table, shaking out his limbs, trying to rid himself of the eerie sensation that had bothered him all night. The silence was galling. He couldn't take it anymore. He whirled around and stormed out of the base.

He followed him where his feet took him. The raid had taken all night; Omega was beginning to wake up. He ended up in front of the dextro corner store, where the turian shopkeeper was just opening for the day.

"Hey Lantar," she said, pulling the door open for him. "You're in early today. What can I get for you?"

"Any fresh fruit?" he asked.

She frowned, her mandibles pulling in. "Well…the hydroponics guy is out of business. So, no. I'm sorry."

"He went out of business? What happened?" Such a small thing came as a big blow in his current mental state.

She scratched the back of her neck. "The operation got seized by a bunch of thugs. I don't know if they're going to keep going with what he did."

Lantar's mandibles gaped open for a second. Then he set his face, turned and strode out of the store.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

"To fix this!"


	19. Chapter 19

> "Look at me  
>  Just as determined as I'll ever be  
>  I won't let sentiment take hold of me  
>  What's in the past can never set me free"  
>   
>  —"Look At Me",  _The Visit_ , John Kander and Fred Ebb

 

When Garrus threatened to shoot the volus who met them, she knew something was off. "I'm not Fade!" the volus squeaked. "I just work for him."

"If we don't find him, we'll be back for you."

The hot rage that Shepard had witnessed right after they pulled Garrus off Omega was gone. Now he was calm, collected. Even when the volus let slip the name Harkin, Garrus just shook his head. "This changes nothing." It was like when he would set up in a sniper nest and pick off enemies, but devoid of the adrenaline high of battle.

The look on Harkin's face when he screamed for his mercs to stop them was almost worth all the trouble they were going to. He quickly turned tail, leaving Shepard and Garrus to deal with the Suns.

"Run all you want, Harkin, we'll find you!" Garrus screamed, his composure cracking for the first time.

"He was always a pain in the ass, but I'm in no mood for his games," Garrus muttered as they huddled behind a stack of shipping crates. "When we find him, I'll beat him within an inch of his life."

"Garrus," Shepard said, pausing in between rounds of gunfire. "Do you really think killing Sidonis will make things right?"

"I know you don't like it, Shepard. I have to. This is personal," he spat. "I will pull that trigger, and I will live with the consequences." He stared her in the eye as he spoke.

And then, when they finally caught Harkin and Shepard pulled Garrus back in time to keep Harkin from dying of a broken neck, Harkin said the same thing that had been haunting Shepard this whole damn time: "Terminus really changed you, didn't it, Garrus."

 _Yes. Yes it did,_ Shepard thought. _I want my friend back._

* * *

Garrus sighed and rubbed his eyes. "You're asking me to what? I can't focus on that right now."

"I'm not _asking_ you for anything. It'll be my op." Lantar sat on the bed, glaring at Garrus, who hadn't taken his eyes off the computer terminal. "Look, have you seen the team? They could use something good to focus on right now."

"And as soon as I get an assessment of what we _did_ achieve, I can plan the next step and they'll have something."

"Garrus. Come on. Remember what you said when we began this whole thing? We wanted to help people. Help ordinary people who were being victimized. Well, this is exactly what I was talking about. This guy's had his business, his livelihood stolen. We can help him."

Garrus put a hand over his face. "Fine. It's your op."

 _Just look at me, damnit._ "I'll let you know how it goes."

Garrus did turn around then and look at him. "I'm sorry," he said. Lantar was struck by how thin his face was; Garrus looked almost as bad as he was when they first met.

He hadn't considered what kind of toll this was taking on Garrus as well as the rest of them."Sorry for what?"

"I feel like I've fucked up all our most important jobs. And you always end up in the middle. You don't deserve that."

Lantar wasn't sure how to respond. All the messy emotions of the night were swirling around in him. _I can't deal with this right now. Too big a can of worms to open._ He mentally shook himself. _I need to figure this out, and soon_. If he really wasn't in love with Garrus anymore—if leaving was what it would take to keep him sane—he wanted to be confident with whatever he decided.

 _What I do know is this: I want out of this gang war business, and I am going to leave, either with Garrus or without him_.

At this point, it was looking more like it would be without him.

 

"I know I'm asking a lot," Lantar said, "but this is strictly a volunteer mission. If you don't want to be involved, that's not a problem." He looked around at the team nervously, tapping his talons on the table.

Everyone glanced around at the others. Lantar held his tongue, waiting. What if no one wanted in? He'd be damned if he was doing this on his own.

They all seemed to come to a decision at once. Butler shrugged one shoulder. "We're with you, Sid. Let's do this."

 

Fumi District was further up in the levels of Omega. It was about as pleasant as a neighborhood on Omega could get. The streets were mostly clean, the area had plenty of manufacturing and plenty of housing for all the workers. The team was mostly suited up in light armor, without helmets; going heavily armed in Fumi risked attracting the attention of the merc companies hired to guard businesses in the area.

Lantar looked down at his omnitool, reading the address that the shopkeeper had given him. It led them to a smaller apartment complex. This area of the district was shabbier, but kept in nice order; the residents obviously had some measure of pride.

The door didn't have any kind of buzzer. He knocked, then stepped back.

After a few moments, it opened. A vorcha in dirty coveralls stood there. He tilted his head, bared his teeth. "What you want? Told you. I have no more."

Lantar was taken aback. This was the genius who had put together a thriving hydroponics operation? "I…was looking for someone by the name of Varat?" He'd assumed the name was batarian, a front or contact for the actual business owner.

"Yes. Is me. Who are you? You come to take more from me?"

"I—no. We're here to help."

"Don't need help. Just go away." The vorcha pressed a button, and the door started to close, but Lantar caught the edge with his hand and stopped it.

"We want to get you your business back."

They stood there for a moment. The vorcha eventually let go of the button and the door opened up all the way. "Who are you?" he asked, squinting. "No one helps. Just like that. Not on Omega."

Lantar felt a grin spread over his face. This was what they were made for, this team that Garrus had assembled. They could do this, and tangibly make Omega a better place. "We are Archangel."

The vorcha's eyes widened, and his jaw actually dropped, giving a wonderful show of those sharp teeth. "Well. Then. Come. In! Now!"

They crowded into his apartment, and Lantar's eyes widened, taking it all in.

The small space was devoted to greenery. Vines crawled over every wall; pots with ornamentals occupied every corner. Multiple trays had seeds sprouting on them. Roots hung from the ceiling. One small funny tree appeared to be bearing multiple types of fruit. "This is amazing," he said weakly.

"All that is left," Varat said, moving potted plants away so the group had some room to stand. "They only took what can make credits. Experiments—rhizomes—grafts—no value. Only value for me."

Lantar bent down and examined one of the little trees. "This is incredible."

"See," the vorcha said, "you know. They did not. No appreciation for the art. Just money." He sat on a solitary chair, and sadly plucked at a leaf. "The greenhouse will go out of business. They will have nothing in the end. And everything I built—gone."

One of the hybrid trees had two types of fruit growing on it. Lantar's eyes widened. If he wasn't mistaken, the fruits were both dextro and levo. He pointed. "How—"

"Ah," Varat said happily, and gestured to the pot. "Rootstock is hardy. Just a simple procedure, involving—"

"Sid," Butler said pointedly. " _Sid._ We're here for a reason."

"Right." Lantar shook himself. "Once we're done, I'd love to hear about your work."

"Glad to. Now. What you need from me?"

"Blueprints."

 

In contrast to their recent operations, this one was simple. The thugs weren't organized. They were taken by surprise, and the team didn't have to fire many bullets before they scrambled away. Varat was able to march into the greenhouse and take stock of the damage in less than an hour.

He and Lantar spent the next two hours discussing growing methods. Butler just rolled his eyes and led the rest of the team back to the base. "Don't stay up all night, Sid!" he called as they left.

In the end, Varat presented Lantar with a lumpy root. "In well drained soil. Water it well and let it dry completely. Should grow and flourish."

"What is it?"

"You'll find out."

He tucked the root away in his armor.

 

He walked into the corner store with a carton of produce and a large smile. "I don't think you'll have any more issues with your suppliers," he said.

The shopkeeper just gaped at him.

 

"All right, I admit it," Garrus said. They stood on the second floor leaning over the railing, gazing down at the greatroom. The team was talking and laughing, and whatever was on the stove smelled delicious. "You were right."

Lantar tried to hide his smile.

"This is the happiest I've seen everyone in a long time," Garrus continued. He looked up at Lantar. "I'm glad it went well."

"This is the happiest I've seen you in a long time too," murmured Lantar. He pressed his forehead to Garrus's, savoring the warmth of his skin. "You haven't been yourself lately. I miss you."

"I've had a lot on my mind." Garrus pulled him into a tight embrace. "Come on. Let's join them."

 

In the corner store, the turian shopkeeper jumped when her omnitool went off. She checked the caller ID. _Shit, it's today, isn't it._

She answered the call, her hands shaking. The voice on the other end didn't bother with any greetings. "Where's your payment?"

She winced. Business had been rough lately, and the Blue Suns were inflexible in their deadlines. "I don't have it."

"This is the third month in a row you've been late," the voice said. "We are running out of patience. Payment tomorrow, or we drop your protection."

 _No. They can't!_ Loss of Suns protection would mean that she would be vulnerable to whatever Omega could dream up. The protection fees ostensibly were insurance, but there was another kind of unspoken rule: _Pay up, and we'll leave you alone_.

"Wait." She choked the word out, remember Sidonis's smiling face from earlier. _He can't be, can he…? This might be my only chance._

She squeezed her eyes shut. _I'm so sorry._

"I think I can do something else for you."

There was a pause on the line. "Unlikely."

"I think I can get you Archangel."

 

Seeing Lantar in this state was like seeing him with new eyes, Garrus mused. The withdrawn man had been replaced by a confident and happy one. And damn, that confidence was sexy.

It was like the last few months hadn't happened. They talked and joked, and Lantar's green eyes seemed to light up as the evening wore on. And then Lantar grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs, intending to make good on the promises of the evening. He burst into laughter when he pulled off Lantar's armor and a root fell out, Lantar diving for it and placing it gently on the desk in their room.

They snuggled up on the bed together, seemingly content to lie there until Garrus slung a leg over Lantar's hip and Lantar rolled on top of him, a new (but equally desirable) expression in his eyes.

And then their door opened, Weaver standing there with a datapad in her hand. Her eyes went wide. "Oh sweet Moses—I am so sorry—"

Lantar pulled away and collapsed face-first into the bed next to Garrus, burying his face in a pillow. Garrus sighed and sat up, pulling a sheet over his lap. "Yes, Weaver?"

She forced an expression of calm on her face, not entirely successfully. "I just wanted to report that gang communications have gone silent in the past few hours. I've never seen anything like this. Everyone's just stopped talking."

Garrus rubbed his face. "Well, if they're laying low, so can we," he said. "Keep monitoring things, let me know when it gets back to normal."

"Of course." She turned and left, the door closing behind her, but not before they heard her call: "You were right, Ripper, he doesn't wear the visor in bed!"

Garrus's jaw dropped.

"And you'll never _guess_ who's on top!"

Lantar groaned into the pillow.

Garrus sat in shock for a moment. "How long has that particular betting pool been going?" he asked carefully.

"Long enough," Lantar muttered. "I didn't know about the second one though," he hurriedly added. He groaned again. "We're never going to live this down, are we."

"Probably not," Garrus said. He looked down at Lantar. "Now, before we were so rudely interrupted—"

"Yeah." Lantar raised his head from the pillow.

"They'll get over it," Garrus said, and leaned over, drawing Lantar into an embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to the anon on the kink meme who asked for a vorcha gardener! If you ever see this, 'non, please know I was thinking of you. <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting Monday night because what the hell! We're almost done, and I am crazy excited. ;D
> 
> When I warned for themes of suicide, I was not kidding. If you are sensitive to such things, please take on the next chapters carefully.

> "THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"
> 
> —J.K. Rowling, _The Prisoner of Azkaban_

 

She despairs when he says it. "Words aren't going to solve this problem. Ten good people are lying in unmarked graves, and nobody else knows, and nobody else cares."

But he perches above the lounge despite her protests, and trains his rifle on the crowd below.

 

He scanned the crowd, the scope lingering on each face. There—or was it—

"There he is." Sidonis was wearing purple marks on his face, which had given Garrus the moment of pause. Must be part of the new identity, he figured. A barefaced turian would stand out anywhere, but with colony markings, Sidonis would be able to vanish in a crowd.

"Wave him over, keep him talking."

He kept his sights on Sidonis as Shepard approached. Shepard beckoned him over, and Sidonis slowly got up from the bench, his mandibles clamped tight against his face.

He could hear them speaking through his com. "Let's get this over with." Sidonis's voice, ostensibly neutral, but Garrus knew him well enough to recognize the tension below the surface.

Garrus forced himself not to blink, his eyes going dry. His mandibles twitched.

"You're in my shot," he said over the com, Shepard's head dancing in front of his scope. "Move to the side."

But she didn't answer, and she didn't move. "Listen, Sidonis," he heard instead. "I'm here to help you."

He shuddered, ice falling into his stomach. _She wasn't_ _—_

"I'm a friend of Garrus's. He wants you dead, but I'm hoping that's not necessary."

_She was._

Sidonis stepped back. "Is this some kind of joke?" The pitch of his voice soared. And even with him moving back, Shepard's head still blocked his shot.

"Danmit, Shepard! If he moves, I'm taking the shot." He tried to keep calm, but his own pitch echoed Sidonis's.

Sidonis took another step back. "You're not kidding. And I'm not sticking around to find out." He turned to leave and Garrus tracked his position, but just when his shot was about to be clear, Shepard grabbed Sidonis's arm.

"Don't move."

"Get off!" Oh yes, the voice was panicked now, Sidonis's emotions showing through in a way Garrus had rarely seen them before.

"I am the only thing standing between you and a bullet in the head," Shepard murmured.

"Fuck," whispered Sidonis. He moved over to the railing, Shepard keeping pace with him and keeping her head in Garrus's line of sight. "I didn't have a choice."

"Everyone has a choice," Garrus growled.

Sidonis leaned over the railing, wilting like one of his stupid plants. "The Blue Suns. They got to me. They were going to kill me. I didn't know what else to do."

"Let me take the shot, Shepard!" Garrus was yelling now, not caring if his voice echoed across the lounge. He knew Sidonis could hear him, and chose his next words to wound. "He's a damn coward!"

"That's it?" Disgust in Shepard's voice. "You were just trying to save yourself?"

_Yes_ , Garrus mentally pleaded. _Shepard, you know me. You know what I went through, what I was put through, because of him. Just let me end it all._

"I know what I did!" Sidonis yelled, aiming his words up at the balcony where Garrus stood. Through the scope, their eyes met. "I know they died because of me. And I have to _live_ with it. They stare at me in the night, accusing me. I can't sleep, I wake up sick. I'm a dead man. I want everything to be over."

He turned and hunched back over the railing, sticking his head out over the drop, giving Garrus a clear shot.

"Let it go, Garrus," Shepard murmured into the com. "He's already paying for it."

Garrus's voice shook. "He still has his life." Was Sidonis asking to die?

"There's nothing left to kill," Shepard said.

Behind her, Sidonis let out a soft keen that barely came through the com. Garrus's breath hitched. Sid—Lantar—had never cried in front of him before. "They deserved better," Garrus pleaded, unsure who he was talking to—Shepard, Sidonis, or himself.

Sidonis lifted his head. "Tell Garrus," he said, "I know there's nothing I can do to make it right." He remained leaning out over the railing, his head clear in Garrus's scope, unmoving, his eyes closed, and something like peace on his face.

Garrus's hands shook, and the shot was no longer clear.

After a long pause, he closed his eyes. "Just—tell him to go," he said, his voice cracking.

He missed the look that Sidonis shot him, full of fear and despair, and he missed Sidonis slowly turning his back and walking away.

Numbly, he flicked the switch that collapsed his rifle, swallowing around the burning in his throat, and he hunched over the balcony railing, clutching his rifle like a lifeline, and didn't try to muffle the sobs that tore from his chest.

* * *

It happened very quickly.

He only wanted produce, that was all. Varat had sent him a box, and he was going to pick it up from the corner store.

And then someone hit him from behind and he toppled forward only to have someone grab him around the chest and press something to his face.

And then there was nothing for a while.

 

He came to only to find himself strapped into a chair. His head hurt and he gasped, feeling like he couldn't take in enough air.

A door opened eventually, the scraping of the metal echoing off empty walls. It was the Blue Suns. Of course it was. Thugs in blue armor, so much like Garrus's, but not like Garrus's at all because it had that emblem on it which promised pain for anyone who crossed the person wearing that armor.

And pain was what he got. Pistol whipped across the face without a word from the mercs, smashed in the chest, a well-placed fist to the side of the head.

They didn't ask him for anything. The only sounds in the room were of his beating, the mercs' boots on the floor, and the dripping of blood from his face.

How many times had it been? How many times, since joining up with Garrus, had he stared death in the face as he both faced it and dealt it out? But this time was different. Because he was alone, unarmed, and Garrus was not there to save him.

The mercs left after a while, no telling how much time had passed, and he was left alone, his body throbbing in pain.

 

They came back, all faceless in helmets, and brought a biotic with them.

This time they asked questions. The biotic would bring up a field, and press it into his chest, and other than shrinking back further in the chair, he couldn't get away. The biotic pressed until his breathing was shallow and he was gasping for air, and then they would ask a question.

His name, fine. They knew his name already and so did a lot of people.

And after he answered, the field would let up and he could breathe again, pulling in air as hard as he could, his ribs aching.

But then they would come back, and press again, and ask another question.

 

How much could he say? What would he give up? It got hard to think when his ribs were on the verge of cracking and his head spun from lack of air. After a while, the only thought that managed to surface was _I'm going to die._

Might as well not give up anything more, because he'd given up too much already and it didn't matter because he would die anyway.

 

Someone burst in, and the biotic field vanished. Lantar gasped, suddenly able to breathe again. Dimly, he could hear yelling.

"—this how we treat our guests? Why wasn't the Lt. informed?"

Mumbles.

"Get out. Now."

And then someone freed him from the chair, and supported him when he stood.

He blinked, and through his blurry vision he could make out a human in Suns armor. The human wasn't wearing a helmet but was wearing a look of concern.

"Completely inexcusable, utterly unauthorized—I hope you don't get the impression that we treat everyone this way—"

He mumbled something incoherent, and was led to another room, given a comfy chair and a glass of water.

Only later did he realize that that was part of the Suns' plans all along. It was easy not to think about what you were saying when you were exhausted and hurting and being shown scraps of kindness.

That was probably the same reason they let him go. Because in his state, he had no chance of opposing them.

 

Lantar Sidonis recognized the area outside the Suns compound. It was far from Kima, and he shuddered, thinking of having to walk all the way back.

Could he go back? Could he even face his friends? Or Garrus?

And then he remembered.

That old shitty apartment wasn't far. And even though they hadn't used it in a very long time, Garrus still held the lease.

Climbing thirteen flights of stairs hurt like hell. Lantar keyed in the door code, his hands shaking. If something was wrong, then the door would explode.

The door didn't explode. The air inside was musty, and the space was stark; most of their belongings were at the main base.

Collapsing onto that little bed felt like heaven. He lay there for a moment, his eyes closed.

And then the reality of his situation began to overtake him, creeping in at the edges of his brain.

_The Suns knew._

_The Suns knew because he'd told them everything._

But what would they do with that information?

Take Archangel down, almost certainly. Raid their base? Kill everyone? Drag them away? Execute them slowly?

The scenarios overwhelmed him. And the Suns—they could be attacking _right now_ _—_

And it was all because of him.

He sat up, scrambling for his omnitool.

Garrus's voice over the line was like cool water in a drought. "Lantar? Are you ok?"

"I—" Everything sounded normal on the other end.

"You've been gone for a while. Did you get that produce? How's the vorcha with the vegetables?"

Lantar closed his eyes, guilt washing over him. How could he tell Garrus. How could he say it to anyone. How could he admit that he'd fucked up again, betrayed his friends and sent them to their deaths? How could he not learn from the mistakes he'd already made years ago?

Because that's what was going to happen. The same damn thing, all over again.

"Lantar?"

Could he tell Garrus, tell them to run? But it would be too late. The Suns knew the team's identities. _Ten,_ he'd said, through the haze of pain and fear. _Ten of us._

And now, he realized that he'd miscounted. Forgot to include Garrus and himself.

_I could save him._

"I'm fine," he said, trying to even out his voice as much as he could. "Just working on something. Blood Pack, in the Kenzo district. Lotta guns." Kenzo was on the other end of the station, the time to get there would keep Garrus away from the base for a while.

"How big? Do you need backup?"

"Not too big. We could handle it together."

"Like old times," Garrus said cheerfully. "I'll be up there in a bit, just hang tight."

"I—" He choked back a sob. "I love you." It wasn't something he'd ever said over a com line.

A pause. "I love you too," Garrus said, his voice light and reassuring. "Don't worry. I'll be right there."

And the line went dead.

And Lantar knew that it was the last time he would ever hear Garrus's voice.

A wave of dizziness overtook him, and he lay back on the bed, sleep consuming him almost immediately.

 

He didn't remember the dreams, but woke up gasping all the same.

His omnitool beeped. He flicked it on, tentatively, like trying to deactivate a bomb and not being sure of which wire was correct.

There was a message on it from Butler. He pulled it open, only to hear yelling and gunshots. After a few seconds, the audio cut to static.

Lantar's stomach rolled, and he swallowed down a retch.

At least he didn't have superior officer to face down this time, didn't have to see the paperwork with his name on it. His name, and "DISHONORABLE DISCHANGE: COWARDICE." Didn't have to see the list of the names of the dead.

Just as he had run to Omega after everything, that was all he could think to do now. Run.

He didn't know what else to do.

* * *

They met back by the rented car.

Shepard opened her mouth to say something, but Garrus held up a hand. "I know you want to talk about it," he said, "but I can't. Not right now."

She closed her mouth and nodded, climbing into the car without a word.

He couldn't look at her on their way back to the _Normandy_.


	21. Chapter 21

> "CUNNINGHAM: Who wouldn't want to appeal "eternal damnation"?
> 
> JUDGE LITTLEFIELD: Someone who was aware of his own self-inflicted erosion of the capacity to be filled by Grace…Someone too prideful to ask for forgiveness even in the face of the fiery furnace. Or maybe, he don't bother askin', 'cuz he knows he don't deserve it!
> 
> CUNNINGHAM: Your Honor, the only person who _needs_ forgiveness is the one who doesn't deserve it."
> 
> —Stephen Adly Guirgis, _The Last Days of Judas Iscariot_

 

He hadn't wanted to talk about it, and that was ok. Shepard could respect that Garrus needed some space. So she gave it to him.

A week later, she went down to the battery.

He was standing at the gun console as usual. He didn't turn around when she entered. "Shepard. Need me for something?"

"Garrus," she said, and he finally turned around. Chakwas had changed the bandage on his face again. "Are we ok?"

He tipped his head back and forth, twitching a mandible. "I—"

"If we're not," she said, "I need to know."

He seemed to come to a decision. "Sit," he said. Shepard sat, and Garrus sat on a crate across from her.

"There's something I didn't tell you," he said eventually. "About that mission." He looked away, his face distant. "Sidonis and I…we were lovers."

"Garrus." Shepard felt her mouth hang open in surprise. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I…didn't think it mattered. Not after everything." He finally looked back at her. "I was wrong."

The pause dragged out, Shepard rapidly trying to process this new information.

"Thank you," he said after a while. "I'm not sure I would've been able to take that shot anyway. But the way you stood in front of me—I don't have to know if I might've done it. You have no idea what a relief that is."

"I didn't know if I was doing the right thing," she admitted. "Before, you made it sound like Sidonis sold you out. But then when he said that the Blue Suns—"

"I should've seen it coming," Garrus said. "He always said he was a coward. I didn't believe him. I—I think I tried to make him into someone that he couldn't be."

Shepard suddenly remembered something from their first conversation after they'd reunited. "You said he called you, and lured you away from the base. Is it possible that he was trying to save your life?"

He sighed, and looked down at his hands. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm not sure I want to know." He paused. "I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him."

"If he tried to save you," Shepard said, "that doesn't sound like such a cowardly thing."

He breathed out. "It's in the past, Shepard. Look, I've dealt with it. I'm fine. Thanks to your help." He looked up. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm ready. Whatever the Collectors decide to throw at us, I'm ready."

* * *

It didn't make sense.

Lantar wasn't at the meeting point. Garrus waited a while. When he tried to call and got no response, that's when the panic kicked in.

His fears were confirmed when the skycar neared the base. The smoke rising from the structure told him everything. He cut the power to the skycar and drifted silently into the garage, afraid of what he might see when he opened the doors.

The scene that greeted him on the main floor. Blood splashed everywhere. Burn marks and bullet holes on the walls. Lantar's plants tipped over and scattered across the room. And the bodies.

Mostly mercs.

Garrus picked his way through the carnage. Mercs, mercs, mercs. Ripper, her pink hair garish against the pool of blood her head rested in. She and Monteague had fallen defending the entrance.

Sensat had been felled by a hail of bullets— _enough to get through her biotic barrier_ , Garrus realized. Mel had been in the kitchen, and by the looks of things, had taken down a few mercs with a frying pan. The heavy iron pan was decorated with many colors of blood, but it was the navy staining her coveralls which stood out to him.

Vortash was leaning against the back of a couch. The salarian was still breathing. He flicked his eyes open when Garrus knelt at his side. "Vortash. Are you ok? Can you breathe?"

The choked gurgle was answer enough. Vortash shook his head weakly, then slumped to the side as his life gave out.

Mierin's body was back in a corner, her medkit a few inches from her outstretched hands. Garrus closed his eyes for a moment. He dreaded going upstairs, terrified of what he would find. He had to do it.

Butler was facedown on the stairs. Garrus knelt and turned his body over, and when he saw the look on Butler's face, wished he hadn't.

The door to his room was shut and locked. Garrus hacked the lock open, his fingers trembling.

There was blood on the walls of his room too. Erash and Lurk were lying in a pile at the far wall. He could see from here that their hands were twined together. Gunshots in the wall—they'd been shot execution-style.

And then someone was sitting against the bed on the far side of the room. It was Weaver—the pink headscarf gave it away. He carefully stepped around the bed, only to hear her scream.

He jumped away. "Weaver?"

She clutched her chest. "Boss. You scared the hell out of me. I thought the mercs were back." There was a bundle of wires in her lap, which she picked up after a moment and began fiddling with.

Garrus dropped down to meet her eyes. "You're alive. How are you alive?"

Weaver shrugged and gave him a bitter smile. "Not for long," she said, and pressed a hand to her abdomen. It came away bloody; her black shirt had been hiding the wound. "Gut wounds—takes a while to die," she said.

Garrus reached out for her stomach, only to have her push his hand away. "No point now," she said. "I've lost too much blood." She held out the wires to him. "When they attacked, we sealed ourselves in here. Lurk started cobbling together this bomb from some hardware you had lying around—but they were able to get in after us." She glanced over at the corpses. "They died together," she said quietly. "It's probably the way they wanted to go."

He gently took the bomb from her. Glancing down at it—it would never have worked. There wasn't enough power contained in the little battery to set the explosives off. "Weaver," he murmured. "What happened?"

Tears gathered in her eyes. "I fucked up, boss," she whispered. "They were using couriers. That's why the airwaves were quiet. The gangs—Eclipse, the Suns, Blood Pack—they were all working together." Tears spilled down her face.

"Shh." He reached out and took her hand, squeezed it. "It's ok," he whispered.

"No, it's not." She sniffed, blinking more tears out of her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—it was Sid."

"What?"

"It was Sidonis, boss. I overheard one of the mercs—he gave us up. He told the Suns where we were, who we are. I'm so sorry. I know you love him." She bent over, shaking with sobs.

"No," Garrus said. He couldn't— "You must be mistaken," he said. "He—"

"No. Garrus. They said his name."

He shook his head.

"Hey," she whispered. "Do me a favor."

"Anything."

"Can you—cover us up, please? For humans, shrouds mean dignity."

He reached out, and caught her in a gentle embrace, pulling her weak body to his. "Of course."

She relaxed in his arms. "Thank you."

They stayed there, Garrus rocking her gently, as the life left her.

When it was over, he laid her body down on the floor. He exhaled slowly. And then remembered—

Lantar's body should have been here somewhere, he thought. If it was true—and of course it wasn't—then he wouldn't be—

Again, Garrus pulled up his omnitool and tried to call Lantar.

Again, no answer.

He sat there a moment, then on a whim, pulled up the bank account that he and Lantar shared.

And right there. Half the money in it had been withdrawn, and there was a record of money spent for passage off Omega. Only an hour ago.

The bottom dropped out from Garrus's world.

 

He moved mechanically, laying out all the bodies in neat rows (not daring to separate Lurk and Erash), and covered them with sheets.

He lit incense, and knelt down in front of it, touching his head to the floor like he'd seen Weaver do in prayer, and prayed. The smoke rose and touched the words on his tongue, floating up and dissolving. _Let me do well by them. Let me send a few mercs to hell. And by all the spirits of Palaven, let me die a good death, and avenge my friends._

He took his favorite sniper rifle, and lined up boxes of heat sinks on the balcony. The shudders were closed, but according to a thermal scan, the mercs were still there, standing guard by the bridge. _That bridge might be my best chance. It'll slow them down, funnel them to me._

He opened Mierin's medkit, and removed the stims she kept, injecting one into his neck to clear his head, keep him alert.

He took a quick look at Lurk's small bomb, and was able to fix it. It would work.

And then, in one smooth action, he keyed the window shutters open, activated the detonators to collapse the basement entrances, and threw Lurk's bomb to the end of the bridge.

The explosions shook the world, and rang in his ears. The mercs, some clutching wounds from the bomb, turned back to the base, only to die from his first shots.

He fired off shot after shot. Killed merc after merc. It would be a long siege, he would see to that. He would take as many as he could.

But he knew that no matter how many mercs he killed, it wouldn't bring back his friends. It was the end of the line, and all he could do was die doing what he did best.

* * *

 

He shook. His hands shook and his body shook and his breath came in gasps. After he was out of the Orbital Lounge, he broke into a run.

Lantar burst through the door of the small rented room. It had to be in there somewhere. His thoughts shuddered and scattered as he tore through his meager luggage. He was sure he'd brought it—

There. His old service pistol. He wrapped his trembling hands around the gun. It would still work. He ran his hands over the grip, over the trigger—

The small part of his mind that was still thinking rationally said, _Bathroom. Easier to clean up afterwards._

He lurched towards the bathroom, clutching the gun tightly. He leaned over the sink, cold shivers running down his spine. His face was hot and he could feel his heart pounding. He held the gun in his right hand, checking to make sure the safety was off, and pressed the barrel to the side of his head.

His finger rubbed the trigger back and forth and back and forth. He tried to still his breathing.

It was the closest he'd ever come to actually ending things.

He glanced up at the last moment, and saw his face in the mirror. The false colony-markings slapped him in the face, and he dropped the gun, bending over turning on the water and washing them away. Violet paint staining the water and running down the drain.

If he was going to die, he would do it as Lantar Sidonis. Not as some front that Fade had dreamed up to make a credit.

He looked up as he turned off the water, and saw himself.

Lantar Sidonis. Disgraced soldier, washed up laborer. Failed vigilante.

He swallowed, and leaned forward, staring at his reflection.

He didn't want to die, but what else was there?

_But if I die, then everything was pointless. Their deaths were all pointless. Because I tried to save myself, and they died for it._

He breathed out, releasing everything in a not-quite sob. He grasped the edges of the sink, and bent over, trying to think.

_Garrus had let him go._

Garrus had let him go.

Forgone his justice, and let him go. Lantar had been begging for death, and Garrus let him go.

He couldn't figure out why. Not now. Everything was too fresh, and, well—

_"I left C-Sec," Garrus had said, the day they met. "Figured I could do more good where there was no red tape to get in the way."_

In the end, there was no red tape. There was just him, Garrus, and a sniper rifle. Justice. And Garrus had let him go.

Lantar stared into the mirror.

There was Garrus's justice, but there was also the law's justice.

He knew what he had to do.

 

_March 2015 - January 2016._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think we all know how this ends. Lantar goes to C-Sec and tries to get them to charge him with murder. They cannot, because Omega has no government to extradite to. And that is the last we hear of Lantar Sidonis (in Bioware canon, at least!).
> 
> I just want to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos and comments, and subscribed! This is the first project I've completed of this size, and I'm amazed that so many people have joined me. I've made friends, learned a lot about writing, and held my fingers to the grindstone. It's been great and I love you all.
> 
> This is the end of this story, but I do have a short sequel planned for the future.


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